


The Unlikely Companions

by NoLoreMaster



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventure, Character Development, F/M, Gay Sex, Homosexuality, Humor, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Some Fluff, Some angst, Straight Sex, Violence, vampire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-15 09:50:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 34
Words: 183,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4602249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoLoreMaster/pseuds/NoLoreMaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He travelled to Skyrim to find a means to end it all. She fled to Skyrim to postpone the arranged marriage for as long as possible by hiding in her studies of the Arcane Arts.</p><p>Certain they would live to regret it, they saved the life of an overly ambitious Thalmor, but they would unite to rise against the real threat Skyrim would offer them.</p><p>F!OC X Ancano and M!Dragonborn OC x Ondolemar</p><p>Update: chapter 6 rewritten 20-05-2016 SORRY FOR THE DELAY!!!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> It always bugged me that with certain quest-lines, it would 'just end'. No ifs or buts, just, kill the bad guy and become the leader while you couldn't polymorph a bag into a cup to save your life.
> 
> I -loved- the questline involved with the College of Winterhold, but really didn't like the 'Eh, just kill Ancano, no biggie, no consequences'. With this fic I hope to achieve a bit of an interesting tale that delves into the questline of both the College and the Main Quest with a twist.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “…Men are weak. All we have achieved in but a few decades is proof to our supremacy. Even now, Skyrim has become a cesspool of disarray and chaos because the apes squabble over their holds.” His voice was clear, rich and strong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added: 16-11-2015. Tweaked the prologue and added these notes.
> 
> When I first did the College of Winterhold quest-line, I was most satisfied with killing Ancano, as sexy as his voice was. But then I wondered "hrm, could I make it end some other way?" 
> 
> Nope. 
> 
>  
> 
> And it really struck me as odd that someone completely oblivious and new to the College could just so simply ascend to the rank of Arch-Mage simply because some 'random guy' from the Psijic Order said so. Not to mention the complete, utter lack of consequences because 'you' as the player, did kill a Thalmor agent.   
> So I went from there with my character, Ganir, who I've been playing with since Morrowind and Cirilonde (whom I also played with since about Morrowind/Oblivion.). 
> 
> Because that was -one- thing I found lacking in Skyrim, that as open as the developers wanted to leave certain things to be, there was sometimes a complete lack of logic or consequences. And really, the few prominent Thalmor we deal with in Skyrim are brilliant in their own right! Elenwen; a deadly, dangerous and cunning woman. Ondolemar; a charismatic commander and of course, Ancano, a brilliant mind.
> 
> I could no longer resist. So here we start off with The Unlikely Companions.
> 
> While I write, I will indicate at times I've 'tweaked' a previous chapter, so watch for those notes at times. 
> 
> For the rest, I genuinely hope you will enjoy reading this. Please never hesitate to let me know what you thought by either leaving a kudo or a comment. I love chatting with readers!

**Skyrim: The Unlikely Companions  
Prologue**

 

The gentle breeze that swept inland from the lake brushed past the blooming trees, carrying the sweet scent of their blossoms. Though the sun was setting, the birds sang their song as if praising the beautiful, clear painted sky. Lord Falintaor Valanocke smiled at his wife, who was painting the scene before both him and his guest, Lord Highal. The semblance was uncanny but her skill added a certain touch to it that made the painting seem vivid and alive.

After the hand-maiden had poured all of them wine, she left with little but a bow and a practiced smile, just as tense as Lord Falintaor, though he concealed it well, sipping his wine.   
  
Lord Highal was no ordinary man and many would envy that a prominent diplomat and ambassador such as Falintaor would be graced with the company of this man; a most noble appearance even by Altmer standards. His hair was a deep dark red; a stark contrast to the cold, sharp features of his face which seemed to be carved to perfection. He was clad in elaborate and gemmed robes and countless rings, some even enchanted, adorned his fingers. “My son, Taurmillan, has risen amongst the ranks of the Thalmor as is to be expected of one of my own. He was most pleased to hear that your Cirilonde wished to marry him and insisted the ceremony take place at our estate, should you agree to that.”  
  
Falintaor’s attire was vastly different from Lord Highal’s. His dress-robe was made by the finest tailors but weren’t as elaborate, matching his more humble nature. His white-golden hair and beard were neatly trimmed and his dark-green eyes held more warmth. “As would only be appropriate, Lord Exarch,” Falintaor agreed. “I’m very honored that he finds my Cirilonde pleasing. I assure you she’ll have no issue to leave Alinor and be at his side.”   
  
“I’m sure,” Lord Highal’s smile was without warmth. “However, I understood from my son that she still desires to travel to Skyrim and enroll at its College in Winterhold?”   
  
Lord Valanocke swore inwardly. No doubt Cirilonde had discussed this with Taurmillan, Lord Highal’s son that it had reached his ears this way. But he remained composed and took a sip of his wine to hide the nervous twitch of his lip. “She’s young and ambitious. The wedding will occupy her mind soon enough, I’m sure. It’s why I had her return to Alinor; she’ll have all she needs and desires here.”  
  
_Or so I hope…_ After all, his daughter had been rather adamant about attending the College. However, she also very well knew that it was of the essence she answer Taurmillan’s courtship as it would improve things for them all.  
   
Falintaor’s gaze was locked on the lake and the gardens surrounding them. Somewhere, his daughter and her husband to-be would be out for a stroll.   
  
 

* * *

 

Tallerin, the Wood Elf gardener, had really outdone himself over the course of the past days once the word had reached his ears that two prominent men would visit his Lord’s estate. He had even gone as far to tame the song birds to perch not too far away from them so their song, gentle and sweet, could be heard. The whole scene before them would have been beautiful and even romantic, but Cirilonde felt anxious and trapped. _Nerves, dearest of mine,_ her mother had assured her, telling her daughter about the feelings that had bloomed when her father courted her mother.  
   
Taurmillan, however, did not spark any such feelings as he had not made any efforts to reassure her. He looked very much like his father, save for his cold, harsh and grey eyes. Like his father, he was no common Altmer and had been present at some of the most historical events in the fight against the Empire, who had submitted to the Aldmeri Dominion after the Great War.  
   
“…Men are weak. All we have achieved in but a few decades is proof to our supremacy. Even now, Skyrim has become a cesspool of disarray and chaos because the apes squabble over their holds.” His voice was clear, rich and strong.

Hesitant at first, she laid her gloved hand on his and he looked down at her. They had been walking with their arms linked so this sudden gesture of affection surprised him as she had been so tense. “I “I hope it’s not all misery and hope in your eyes. Just look at all this…” she gestured at the gardens and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “And yes, Skyrim is in chaos, but there’s knowledge to be found there at its College in Winterhold. Many great Mer attended in the past even during the Arcane University’s glory days.”

He turned to her, a small sigh escaping him. “Surely you’re still not thinking of attending that place? There’s nothing left of it but rubble and ruin.”  
  
She hesitated, her thumb rubbing the back of his hand, but her heart was racing. “I don’t just want to be your wife, Taurmillan. I want to be an educated woman you can be proud of having as your wife. You’re no ordinary man, and…”   
  
Her eyes widened at first but then closed when he cupped her chin and kissed her, pulling her close against him. But she didn’t feel anything. She wasn’t repulsed by any means, she _was_ attracted to him, but she didn’t feel that overwhelming ‘wave’ of energy like she had once in the past. But she returned the kiss. “I’m a patient man, my Cirilonde,” he purred, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. “And I have no qualms to practice it while you attend this College of yours before we marry.”   
  
“Thank you so much for understanding,” she said, relieved that this would give her some time and space to breathe. She was going to get married…and it terrified her.  
  
Little did Cirilonde knew that even far greater things were at play in the Highal’s family and once Lord Highal found out about his son’s true plans and intentions. He would have to act and handle this situation discreetly, and the first step lay in taking care of Cirilonde.

 

* * *

  
  
Cirilonde squinted her eyes as she had finally made it out of the mountain pass from Bruma to Falkreath and the sun’s glare briefly blinded her. The wind she had heard howling overhead in the pass, now greeted her by chilling her to the bone. She wrapped her robes and fur collar tighter about her before reaching for the map of Skyrim she had obtained prior to making her way to this land. “So I could take a carriage straight from Falkreath,” she mused and looked up from her map, out ahead. From the high slope she stood, there was a worn pathway that led down to what had to be Falkreath.

But as she continued, the nagging feeling she’d had for the entire journey only grew stronger. Granted, she had stuck to the roads and been cautious, yet, the trip had been far too easy as she’d not encountered any dangerous wildlife or bandits.  
   
As she followed the winding path that led to a crossroads, she froze when four men appeared from the darkness, all High Elven Thalmor, clad in the typical black and gold leather, hooded robes.  
  
“You there, you are to come with us at once!” Cirilonde’s instincts kicked in the moment one of them drew their sword upon closing in and she ran as fast as her long legs managed. Bolts of fire and lightning shot past her as she bolted into the dense forest off the beaten path. Branches tore at her white-golden locks and thorns lashed at her face, clothes and ankles.  
  
A soundless shriek escaped her lips when the breath was knocked out of her and her body painfully tensed before she fell face-down in the mud, stunned by the bolt of energy that hit her in the back. By the time she attempted to get up, the four Thalmor agents were already there.  
   
“A pointless, pitiful effort,” said one of them as he gathered the rope from his belt. He had barely grabbed Cirilonde’s wrist when he leapt up, startled by the horrid, gurgling sound his colleague made as he choked on his own blood before collapsing.  
  
Before the remaining three could even utter another word or take action, a bolt shot into the throat of the Thalmor to Cirilonde’s right and the second made a soundless cry as a swift, red-eyed shadow repeatedly stabbed him before breaking his neck. The fourth, last Thalmor’s eyes shot in all directions to catch the invisible assailant, his elven blade at the ready in one hand while the other crackled with static.  
  
“Found you!” He snarled, shooting a bolt of lightning forth from his gloved hand, but nothing was hit.  
  
Cirilonde trembled, hurt and chilled to the bone as she lay terrified in the cold mud and snow. She looked up at the Thalmor who towered over her, who still looked for the invisible assailant, but there was nothing to be seen or heard, save for the silent rustle of leaves and branches and the howl of a beast in the distance.  
  
“Who goes there?!” The Thalmor’s voice betrayed his fear in spite of the snarl set on his face as he spun around. “You are a _fool_ to think tha-,”

Cirilonde shrieked in horror. The man who had come from the darkness had been like a shadow; silent, cold and swift before plunging a dagger into the Thalmor’s back and breaking his neck.

“Please don’t hurt me!” Cirilonde covered her head. She must have looked pathetic in her mud-drenched robes and tear-stained face.  
  
“Get up, sera, we need to go.” The shadow’s voice was rough and deep and reached a hand out to her. She looked up and saw that the red-eyed shadow was a Dunmer; the ashen-skinned elves from Morrowind. He was clad in dark, leather armor. Thick strands of pitch-black hair stuck out from underneath his hood. “Not going to hurt you,” he added irritably.  
  
Cirilonde took his hand and he motioned for her to follow, which took her a lot of effort whereas he was nimble and quick. Then again, he hadn’t been lying face-down in the mud and snow like she.  
  
Just when she was about to ask where she was taking him, he pulled her against him, covering her mouth and hiding the both of them behind a rock formation. He hushed her and allowed her to look with him, past the rock, to the hidden trail ahead, where a group of twelve men, clad in blue cloaks, walked in silence and darkness until suddenly, torches were lit all around them and cries were heard.  
  
“It’s an ambush!” One of the blue-cloaked men was silenced by an arrow in his throat before he could even draw his sword.

The Dark Elf had spun around with his dagger out, shielding the young High Elf, but it was too late. They too were surrounded by a group of five men clad in Imperial armor. “There’s more here!” Before they could even protest, they were pushed to the men in blue cloaks, who had surrendered.

“What are these knife-ears doing here?” One of the battle-scarred women, a Nord, spat upon seeing the two elves. The two elves were forced to their knees alongside the blue-cloaked men and all were to put their hands on the back of their heads.

A man approached the lot and Cirilonde glanced up, shuddering from both fear, cold and adrenaline. The man’s face was mostly obscured by his helmet, but judging by the medals and adornments on his armor, she could tell he was a high-ranking Imperial general of sorts. He regarded the two elves with  a raised brow.  
  
“Sir! Sir!” All heads turned to the panicked, young scout who came running, almost stumbling over his feet. “General Tullius, Sir, there are four Thalmor…”

“Catch your breath, boy.” Tullius, the man before her, turned to face the scout. “What of the Thalmor?”

“There are four of them…” The boy was out of breath and frantically pointed in the distance where the elves had come from, barely able to speak as his sides ached. “…all of them are dead. Over there at the clearing.”

Tullius’ eyes locked on the Dark Elf, who had remained very silent and calm despite all that had transpired. “So even the Dark Brotherhood tries to mingle with the state of affairs?” Tullius reached for the dagger sheathed near the Dark Elf’s chest. When he pulled it out, he looked at the fresh blood that still stained the blade. “Get all of them on a cart. Tie them all up and make sure our _Hero of Skyrim_ over there can’t utter a word like we planned.”

“Bu-,” The Dark Elf nudged Cirilonde with his foot, giving her a warning glare and shook his head.

It was futile.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Graphic violence/Death
> 
> Chapter 1: In which we get away from Helgen and make friends...or not.
> 
> Update 8-3-2016: I've rewritten this chapter because it just felt...not right in certain spots so I've brushed up the writing a bit. More chapters will follow so keep your eyes out for the changes. Until then I shan't be updating!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Graphic Violence and death.

**Skyrim: The Unlikely Companions – Chapter 1**

The hobble and rumble of the wooden, horse-drawn carts and the clatter of the horses’ hooves had become a familiar sound and rhythm to its occupants. Once they were apprehended, the blue-cloaked men and two elves had been loaded onto two carts with their hands tied together. Even after riding all night, through rain or snow, they had no idea where the Imperial prison caravan was headed.  
   
The blue-cloaked men, who had been referred to as ‘Stormcloaks’ didn’t seem to be bothered by the cold as much, but in spite of being tired and roughed up, they didn’t look as pathetic and defeated as Cirilonde. The High Elf clung to herself in a desperate attempt to get warm, her teeth chattering while her body stung as it grew numb from the cold.

She looked at the Dark Elf who sat across from her. He was handsome; his sharp jawline graced by a long beard. His thick, black hair was bound into a knot and though he looked as though he hadn’t eaten in days, his red eyes were vivid and showed no fatigue. “So…who are you, exactly?” She was hesitant at first to even talk and kept her voice to a hushed tone.

The Nord who was sat next to her had just nodded off made no attempt to veil his annoyance she’d woken him up. “Thanks a lot,” he snapped at her. “If you damned knife-ears hadn’t shown up to begin with we wouldn’t have gotten into this mess.”  
  
“Shut it, you know damn well they’re not to blame,” snapped the Nord sat next to Ganir. His blond beard and hair were caked with mud. His bright, blue eyes shot fire at the Nord next to Cirilonde. “These Imperial dogs led us straight into an ambush. At least _they,_ ” he nodded at the two elves, “Managed to take some of that Thalmor filth down.”  
  
Cirilonde felt the Nords’ eyes on her as they sized her and the other elf up, probably drawing their own conclusions and assumptions as some of them snorted. It was obvious that she had been helpless and hopeless, but it didn’t matter now.

“The name’s Ganir,” the Dark Elf said after a moment of silence. “So, aside from calling yourself ‘Stormcloaks’ who exactly are you lot?”

“My name’s Ralof and we are the Stormcloaks; Jarl Ulfric’s loyal men in his fight to free Skyrim!” said the Nord next to Ganir, beaming with pride despite his sore sight and state.  
  
One of the Imperial soldiers who drove the cart suddenly spun and cracked the whip at them. “If I hear another word from any of you I’ll have your tongues ripped from your mouths!”  
  
Ganir, like the others, had raised his hands in defense and narrowed his eyes into thin slits at the guard’s back. “I’m assuming that’s your Jarl?” Ganir asked in a hushed tone, nodding at the dark-blond Nord whose face was caged in a brutish, metal construct to gag him. Through the course of their ride, Cirilonde had shot glances his way from the corners of her eyes, wondering why such crude methods were needed and only for this man, but rather than ask, she kept listening.

“Show some respect!” Ralof glared at Ganir. “But yes, that is Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King of Skyrim.”  
  
Cirilonde’s mind reeled as anger, fear, frustration and all kinds of emotions rang loud in her ears. She’d known about the civil unrest in Skyrim and she felt so stupid for thinking she wouldn’t get involved some way. That she could just get to the College and just get away from all of it. But now, here she was on a cart, imprisoned, along with the leader of the Stormcloak rebellion.   
  
“Where….Where are they taking us?” she managed to choke out.  
  
“The fuck does it matter to you, knife-ear?” The Nord next to her sneered. “The Thalmor will probably pardon you.”

“I’m _not_ a Thalmor.” Her tone was more vicious than she looked and it took the Nord off-guard for a brief moment. “Do you think I would’ve been here otherwise? Has the frost gotten to your brain that you forgot how I got here to begin with?”   
  
“What did bring you all the way here to begin with?” Ganir had clearly been meaning to ask this for a while. “And what’s your name?”

“Cirilonde. I came here to study at the College of Winterhold…” she looked down at her trembling, bound hands and shaking knees. “I think I made a huge mistake coming here.”

“Don’t we all make mistakes?” Ralof said with a wry grin. “Don’t dwell on it and let your thoughts be at home, lass. Sovngarde awaits us.”

Cirilonde’s head shot up, her eyes wide with disbelief. Her mouth moved to speak but no sound came before she shut it, fearing she’d vomit. Deep down, from the moment they were apprehended, they’d known there wouldn’t be a ‘happy ending’ and the mood grew grim and quiet all of a sudden.  
   
She buried her face in her hands and chided herself. If she had just accepted Taurmillan’s courtship…But no tears came and she swept the matted locks of hair out of her face to look at Ganir, who looked oddly at peace.   
  
What was going through his mind? But no further word was uttered by anyone and it remained quiet until sunset when they saw a village in the distance.  
  
“Helgen.” Ralof said when he saw the questioning furrows of the elves’ brows. “Used to be sweet on a girl from here.” His lips curled in a smile as he no doubt recalled a most fond memory.

“Open the gates!” yelled the Imperial horseman that led the caravan, breaking everyone from their self-pitying train of thoughts and prayers.   
  
Helgen was a simple village but the Imperials had turned it into a military outpost. A fortress and some watch towers had been built and the village was surrounded by wooden walls and walkways. Some of the villagers, who had been on their ways home, looked on as the caravan rode in but didn’t look at the prisoners, averting their eyes.

“Well, well, well. Not surprised to see the Thalmor are involved in this.” Ralof narrowed his eyes and many heads turned to look at the three High Elves on horseback just past the gates. General Tullius broke away from the caravan and led his horse to the three elves. Two of them were men, clad in the typical, golden and red elven armor but the one in the middle was a tall, Altmer woman, clad in the black and gold, leather robes. She had long, dark-blonde hair that reached just past her shoulders and she furrowed her brow briefly upon seeing the two elves but then turned her attention to General Tullius.   
  
Cirilonde looked at Ganir, not sure if she was looking for comfort or answers, but as the cart came to a halt, the realization they would all die, hit her hard.   
  
“Move it! Get your asses up!” A female, Imperial captain snapped her orders like a fisherman’s wife and they all rose from their seats in the carts; sore and exhausted from the whole trip. Cirilonde stood shaking in her boots from both the cold and fear and clamped her mouth shut; she was out right terrified and looked at the ground all too aware of how pathetic she looked.

“When Hadvar here calls your name, line up!” The Imperial captain continued. “Wouldn’t want to keep the headsman waiting now, would we?!” she added with a malicious smile as some of the men swallowed when they looked at the headsman;  a huge, hooded man who was sharpening his massive executioner’s axe.  
  
Hadvar was a young, Nord man with messy, short brown hair. He held a booklet, from which he read the names of the Stormcloaks. In passing, they shot their glares and spat on the ground at Hadvar’s feet, which earned them a kick or a shove from the guards, but they held their heads high. But with each name, Cirilonde only grew more anxious and though she didn’t think it possible, she began to shake more.  
  
“-Ralof of Riverwood.” Ralof defiantly raised his chin at Hadvar before he was shoved towards the line-up. Cirilonde noticed that Hadvar then looked at the two elves in front of him that remained, furrowing his brow in confusion as these elves weren’t on the list. And they were such an odd pair… “Captain. What about these two?”  
  
“Insurgent scum that killed Thalmor officers near the border,” the female captain spat on the ground at Ganir’s feet, who raised his brow. “Tullius said to the block with them.”

Cirilonde had already known there would be no way out of this, but she’d held a brief glimmer of hope which was brutally shattered. Her mouth moved to protest but no sound came and she and Ganir were shoved to the line-up for the execution.  
  
The atmosphere had already been grim, but now grew eerily quiet. The villagers ushered their children inside and closed the shutters of their windows. Only a few remained to watch.  
  
After a brief, tense moment of Ulfric and Tullius glaring each other down, the Imperial General shook his head, but there was a smug grin on his lips. “Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm. A great many call you a true hero of Skyrim, but no hero would abuse his power by plunging his homeland in chaos by murdering their High King in an attempt to usurp the throne. Today, the reign of terror you and your ‘ _Stormcloaks_ ’ left in their wake, comes to an end. Any last words?”  
  
Ulfric’s face contorted with pure rage as the wicked, iron contraption around his head prevented him from speaking. All that came from him, was a muffled growl of frustration.  
  
The General savored the humiliation of his foe and turned to the headsman, who had been joined by a priestess who had emerged from the tower. “Then without further ado, let’s get started then…Priestess. You are free to give them their last rites.”  
  
The priestess was clad in a humble and hooded, brown robe. She fearfully glanced at the headsman and his axe before stepping forward with raised hands, looking at the miserable lot that was about to meet their demise. “May this solemn hour be filled with peace as we commend your souls-,”

“Just shut it, you wretch!” One of the Stormcloaks spat on her robes. “ We’re not a bunch of milk-drinking dogs. We are the _true_ sons of Skyrim and we are not afraid to-,!”

The Nord’s voice was cut short as an Imperial Legionnaire impaled the Stormcloak on his sword from behind. Blood spattered from the Nord’s wound as his mouth gasped for air, which was knocked from his lungs, mixed with a morbid gurgling as blood poured from his mouth.  
  
 “Justice!” Yelled one of the villagers with a raised fist.  
  
“You cowardly Imperial _dogs_!” Snarled a female, battle-scared Stormcloak. Her face was tear-stained in helpless rage over the injustice that befell her comrade, but she was held back by the other Stormcloaks.  
   
The Nord frantically flailed and grabbed at the blade protruding from his body and though no more was heard than horrible, gurgling noises, the Nord cursed the Legionnaire before he collapsed to the ground in a pool of his own blood and died.  
   
“Anyone else feeling talkative?” Tullius’ eyes swept over the Stormcloaks who glared at him, seething in silent, helpless rage. Cirilonde was aware how she’d jumped to Ganir as if he could keep her safe and she was repulsed by Tullius who seemed to enjoy this. She couldn’t even tear her eyes from the dead Nord who lay face down in the mud and blood that pooled under him.  
  
_Savages and squabbling apes…_ She recalled Taurmillan’s words and she tried so desperately to shake it from her mind but this was outright, blatant slaughter. She never thought she’d ever see so much blood again or witness something so horrible.

A sudden strange and terrible, bone-chilling inhuman screech echoed through the skies and Ganir’s eyes shot towards the sky like everyone else, wondering what the hell it had been.  
   
“It’s nothing.” Tullius snapped and then pointed at Ganir. “Get the Dark Elf on the block.”  
   
When Ganir glared at the Legionnaire who’d shoved him and growled, the young Imperial immediately backed off. After briefly locking eyes with Cirilonde, Ganir then walked towards the block but he was so…serene. He looked at the headsman and even gave him a nod of acknowledgement before he knelt down at the stone and rested his head on it.  
  
When the headsman raised his axe and Ganir closed his eyes, Cirilonde turned her head away, unable  to watch. But that horrible sound of steel cleaving flesh never came, instead, cries of utter fear rung in her sensitive ears and the ground shook. When she looked, she, nor the headsman or anyone else could believe their eyes.   
  
“What in the world is _that?!”_ Tullius had drawn his sword but had backed away, his eyes wide. As black as the night, a massive, wicked shadow had swept down from the skies and perched itself on the tower that overlooked the square. The outer, stone walls of the tower crumbled when the dragon dug its talons into the tower to secure itself so its red, burning eyes could peer down below him.  
   
_A dragon…_ Cirilonde’s mind reeled to register that what she was seeing was even real and time seemed to have come to a slow. The dragon’s hide and scales were pitch-black and its eyes burned bright and red like Ganir’s. Thick, wicked spines protruded from the beast’s back and its enormous head was adorned by a crown of dark, crooked horns. Its enormous maw donned razor-sharp teeth the size her arm.  
   
The headsman was the first to gather himself and swung his axe to strike at the beast’s snout, but the dragon retaliated and snapped its jaws shut over the headman. The man’s anguished cries of pure agony were silenced when the dragon jerked its head and sent the lower half of the headsman’s body flying while gorging down the rest. The beast’s maw then opened and fearing its fiery breath as in legends, everyone dove towards the ground, covering their heads.   
  
The dragon’s roar thundered over the square and though they had no idea how it was possible, but it was as if the beast’s ‘voice’ had the clouds gather, choking the sky black with a storm. “Gather the villagers!” Tullius cried once he gathered himself. “Rally the men!”  
   
But all hell had broken loose as the villagers broke out in panic and cried out for everyone to run and by the time the Imperials had managed to line up into a formation, they were knocked back by the dragon who unfolded its wings and took off. They attempted to give chase, but everyone, including the prisoners, scrambled and scattered when lightning struck the square at least three times in a row before it hit the tower. The stone shattered and the rubble was sent flying everywhere.   
  
She wasn’t sure what hit her in the head, but by the time Cirilonde gathered herself, she realized she had been thrown back against the cart that had brought them here. “There’s no time to waste. Get up!”  
  
Had she been sharp, she would’ve questioned how Ganir had managed to escape his bonds, but she was too dazed and confused from being slammed into the cart and she stumbled after the Dark Elf who dragged her along into the tower. Here, they found more Stormcloaks who’d made their shelter there as well.  
  
Ulfric was there as well and they had just managed to remove the wicked, metal contraption off his head. “Just what in Oblivion is going on, Ulfric?!” Ralof exclaimed. “I mean, a dragon?! A legendary harbinger of the end times?!” He made to discard the metal gag but threw it another way when he saw the two elves had made their way into the tower as well, raising a brow.  
  
Ulfric narrowed his eyes at the two elves, not sure yet whether he could trust them or not. Though his men had been lucky to make  their way here into the tower, not all of them had made it here unscathed, some of them injured. “Legends don’t burn down villages,” he said ominously. “But we need to get out of _here, now._ ” _  
_    
“I’ll check upstairs.” Said one of the Nords and he rushed up the stone steps.  
  
“Igritte.” An old, bearded Nord knelt down at the side of a female Nord, who lay curled up in agony, clenching her stomach.  
   
“I...won’t make it. Just leave me.” Igritte panted. Had she not been this injured, Cirilonde definitely wouldn’t want to meet this woman in battle, who looked fierce and fearless. Deep, old scars marred her face and her white-blonde mane was a wild, bloodied mess.  
   
“Untie me.” Cirilonde held her bound hands out. “Please. I can help her. I’m a healer.”  
   
Cirilonde let out a surprised, little shriek when Ulfric grabbed a knife with such speed she feared he would attack her, but her cheeks grew hot red in embarrassment when she felt he’d cut her ropes loose. “Come on then, she-elf. Do your best. Igritte’s one of my finest…”  
  
Cirilonde knelt down and though Igritte protested at first, she let the High Elf push her arms away to reveal the grizzly wound she’d sustained. The woman was impaled by a splintered fragment of wood and was bleeding profusely.  
  
_This…is going to take a bit of work…_  
  
“Still think you can heal this, She-Elf?” As harsh as Igritte tried to sound, there was an unmistakable fear in her eyes.

Cirilonde bit down on her tongue and focused on the task at hand. “I can, but I will need you to hold still,” she said, at comfort now that she was doing what she was good at. She could just imagine herself back at home in the sick bay where she would heal the Thalmor soldiers or local farmers. “Ralof,” she said to the only Nord who’d been friendly to her. The Nord nodded and knelt down at her and Igritte’s side. The High Elf’s eyes were a vivid green and reminded him of the plains surrounding Whiterun. “I need you to pull that wood out of her at a slow and steady pace. Don’t worry about her bleeding out, I’ve got it, but we’ll need to carry her. She’s lost a great deal of blood.”  
  
“It’s too risky, my Jarl,” Igritte protested through grit teeth. “Leave me behind. I do not fear death.”  
  
“And leave one of my fiercest fighters behind? I think not.” Ulfric nodded at Ralof and signaled for his men to guard the door. The dragon’s roars still thundered overhead, along with the rumble and chaos of the storm. This racket was accompanied by the clatter of the Imperials’ armor and boots and the horrified cries of the villagers.  
   
“Come on lass, stick with me,” Ralof tapped Igritte’s cheek, who growled in response. “This will be over in a pinch.” His eyes not leaving hers, he held her hand with one while gripping the wood with his other.  
  
Only when Cirilonde nodded, did he pull and Igritte howled in pain. The Altmer hovered her hands near the wound and closed her eyes to focus on channeling the magic through her body while she incanted. Tingles of warmth surged through her body to her fingertips, which grew warm and her hands glowed with a golden, healing energy. “Steady…” she ground out as it took effort for her to speak and cast at the same time. But she managed to guide the healing energy to weave the Nord’s muscles, flesh and skin back together as the splintered wood was pulled out of Igritte’s body.  
  
“Tha…Thank you…” Igritte croaked weakly, collapsing against one of her comrades.   
   
“I need a little help up here!” cried the Nord from upstairs. “If we clear the rubble away-,”   
  
His voice was replaced by a terrified shriek and the whole tower shook when the dragon slammed against the tower, digging his claws and wing talons into the stone once again, but this time, the beast rammed the tower so hard with its head, part of the wall gave. The Nord lay trapped below the rubble and was forced to stare helplessly in horror, into the burning, searing eyes before all that was heard, was his horrible, anguished cries when the beast opened its maw and burned him alive.  
  
But the dragon didn’t leave and everyone held their breath and stood frozen in fear. They could no longer even hear the racket outside as all they heard was the beast’s claws scrape against the tower’s exterior. The beast _knew_ something was here and its hot sulphuric breath was repulsive and it was suffocating for them.  
   
After what seemed like ages, they all sighed in collective relief as the dragon kicked off against the tower and flew off.   
  
Ganir let go of Cirilonde, who he’d dragged along with him towards the door, which he now opened to peer outside over the square. “We really need to get out of here, and fast. If we’re quick, we can make our escape.”  
  
“It’s not that easy, even in this chaos,” Ralof argued, shaking his head. “The place is crawling with Imperials, who are no doubt cowering in Helgen’s keep and we need to get through there to get out of here.”  
   
“We have to try,” Ganir said. “They’ll be far too occupied with the dragon and the villagers.”  
   
“The elf’s got a point, Ralof. You should scout ahead with them, Ralof,” Ulfric said. “Wodan and I will come after you with Igritte.”

“Yes, my Jarl.” And without hesitation, Ralof, Ganir and Cirilonde headed out the tower after Ganir had made sure it was safe. They had no time to specifically register what horrible fate had befallen Helgen, but Cirilonde couldn’t ignore the heat of the flames from the houses that were ablaze. Charred bodies of men, women and children lay in the square, if not in the doorways of their home in attempt to reach out and help their beloved before that terrible fate befell them.  
   
Not a single Imperial soldier paid them any heed as they were far too occupied with the futile attempt to regroup and either attack the dragon or defend the survivors who tried to escape. Ralof tore an axe from a nearby woodpile and ran ahead of them, across the square towards the Keep where they came to an abrupt halt. Hadvar and two, Imperial soldiers stood in the way.  
   
“Ralof, you damned traitor!” Hadvar had his lip pulled up in a snarl and his eyes burned into Ralof’s. “You won’t get away this time!”  
  
“Out of my way, Hadvar!” Ralof yelled and swung his axe as a warning that he would fight. “I won’t hesitate to cut you and your friends down without a second thought.”   
  
Ganir kept his eyes on the Imperials and pushed Cirilonde behind him. Though she was quite certain should defend herself or outrun them if needed, she didn’t want to leave either of them behind. Not to mention that Ganir could easily-,   
She hissed in pain and swore under her breath when Ganir threw her and himself to the ground and so did Ralof. The Imperial soldiers cried out when the dragon swooped down and grabbed them as they had been too slow to do what Hadvar, Ralof and the elves had done.  
   
The soldiers struggled in vain to break free from the dragon’s grasp and cried out when the beast let go of them and they were sent plummeting to their demise.  
  
Ralof was the first to gather himself and stormed to the entrance of the keep with Ganir. Cirilonde hesitated, but grabbed Hadvar by the arm and pulled him to his feet. “This isn’t the moment to fight!” she snapped at him when he pulled away from her in confusion and distrust, but he followed when he looked at what little remained of Helgen; the fate of this village and his comrades was sealed if he remained.  
  
“Tell that to Ralof. If we survive.” He said to her as they ran towards the Keep’s entrance. Once inside, they slammed the heavy doors shut behind them and leaned against it to catch their breaths. Cirilonde could tell that this Keep had been erected with the intent for it to be temporary as the wall was lined with bunks on the left with storage chests at the foot ends. To the right, there was a long table, littered with filthy bowls and utensils and untouched meals.   
   
When he saw Hadvar had come as well, Ralof readied his axe but Cirilonde jumped in front of him, raising her hands in defense. “This is not the time to fight, _please_!”  
   
“She’s right.” Ganir grabbed a hold of Ralof’s arm and pushed it down. “We need to focus on getting out of here. He could help us.”

“I doubt it,” Ralof spat on the ground. “One. Wrong. Move…But if you get us out of here, I might not kill you.”  
  
“You’ve always been such the reasonable sort,” Hadvar sneered. “But I don’t have much choice now, do I?”

“You don’t, but before anything else, mind telling me where my weapons are?” Ganir asked Hadvar. “I know your little Imperial friends put them in a chest which they brought in here.”

Hadvar let out a frustrated growl. He was helping three prisoners escape and arm themselves no matter how he twisted or turned it, but what choice did he have? “Over there,” he nodded at the screen to the far back on the right side of the room. “That’s where we store confiscated goods.”  
  
“He can get them himself.” Ralof stepped forward when Hadvar made to help. “No. Sudden. Moves. Go for it, Ganir.”  
  
But the Dark Elf needn’t be told as he’d made his way over there and was surprised to find the chest wasn’t even locked. No doubt because of the sudden uproar from the dragon’s appearance. He found his daggers and after strapping the sheaths back to his belt and inspecting his daggers, he sheathed them.  
  
“All right, Imperial,” Ganir said to Hadvar. “Show the way, and like Ralof said, no funny business.”  
  
Hadvar kept his hands up as he walked past the two distrusting men towards the door, which he then opened for them. The fortress was a maze and Hadvar was their guide and as they continued their way,  they found that they were not the only ones who hoped to make a desperate escape. Rather than aid their comrades, a handful of legionnaires scrapped together what they could before they ran as fast as their legs could carry them.   
  
The odd four of them had pushed themselves against the wall until the deserters were gone, but Hadvar’s sigh was not one of relief and he ran a hand through his hair. “They’ll have me hanged for this…”  
   
“It’s no point in dying here because of that dragon.” Ralof actually felt for the Imperial who was his sworn enemy. “And we need to warn people about this beast. No doubt, Ulfric will know what to do, so let’s go.”  
  
“No, I can’t!” Hadvar angrily tore his arm from Ralof’s grasp. “Don’t you understand?! I can’t abandon my comrades!”  
   
Ralof backed off and it was clear he understood. “You’re on your honor then, Imperial dog, but I warn you, the next time we meet, we will fight.”  
  
“If you survive.” Hadvar snorted as he backed away from them even further, but he threw them a key. “This is all I can do. You’ll find your way out from here, but I need to be with my comrades and hope Tullius calls for us to retreat.”  
  
Cirilonde caught the key and after thanking him, Hadvar ran back outside to join his comrades while the Stormcloak and elves continued their way.

  
  
  



	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh Farengar, you insufferable dragon-molesting tart...
> 
> A chapter where Ganir has little to no choice but to cooperate as walking is not exactly an option.
> 
> Update/Note: As of 11-13-2016 this chapter has been tweaked/updated/improved. Reading back on the story I wasn't quite content with it. So I hope you like it =D

**The Unlikely Companions – Chapter 2**

Though Ralof, Cirilonde and Ganir delved deeper into the Keep, the dragon’s sheer might managed to cause so much havoc on the building’s exterior that it shook on its foundations. The dragon’s talons dug into and tore away at the stone walls, towers and battlements before it spat flames at whatever was in its way until only ashes remained.  
   
The three of them dove for cover when the top of the building collapsed and came crashing down to the lower levels where they were. “There’s no stopping to that damn thing!” Ralof exclaimed. “We need to get going before the dragon sends the whole building crashing on our heads.”  
  
They ran down the corridor and down a series of stairs when Ganir pulled the both of them back in time and out of view. They heard groans and the clatter of steel and voices, but there was no telling if these people were Stormcloaks or Imperials.  
  
Ralof clenched his hands into fists as he could look into the room below from his hiding spot. “So the rumors are true then…” he grit out. “There _is_ a torture chamber down here.”  
  
“Auri-El that _stench_ …” Cirilonde covered her nose with the sleeve of her robe to ward off the unwelcome, putrid and coppery stench of blood and death. Though her mind screamed for her to stay the hell away from that place, she followed the two men, sticking close to Ganir, when the Nord motioned for them to follow him.  
  
Ralof carefully peered around the corner, expecting to be ambushed by the Imperials any moment but instead found other Stormcloaks who had made their way there before them and had slain the Imperial Legionnaires after a brief skirmish.  
  
Cirilonde couldn’t tear her eyes away from the horrid devices. Metal bars with chains and cuffs were bolted to the walls. Metal cages stood secure in the center of the room and there was a long table, tainted red with old blood where a gruesome array of horrible, bloodied torture tools lay spread out.  
   
“Ralof! It’s safe. Come on out!” Said a burly, red-haired Nord when he saw his comrade, but his eyes narrowed at the two elves that followed. He then furrowed his brow and looked past them as if he’d been expecting more people. “Where’s Jarl Ulfric?”  
   
“He’ll be here shortly with Wodan and Igritte. He wanted us to clear a path ahead of him.” Ralof answered. “Don’t worry about these two, Eswold. The High Elf actually saved Igritte’s life.”  
  
When Eswold nodded at the three other Stormcloaks, they sheathed their weapons. “That’s good to know. We’ll stay here and wait for the Jarl. You should go on your way and clear the path for us.” Eswold then looked at Ganir. “You look like the sort. Know how to use one of these?” Eswold removed the bow and quiver with an odd dozen arrows or so from his shoulder and held it up for Ganir to take. When the Dark Elf nodded, Eswold threw them Ganir’s way. “Make yourself useful then and don’t get us killed. There’s an old tunnel up ahead that I think will lead out of here.”  
  
Ganir’s face showed he bit back a remark and he and Cirilonde followed Ralof once more, just eager to get out of here as fast as possible. They ventured further with caution, but all they came across were frostbite spiders (Hairy arachnids about the size of a dog  that spat ice-cold, burning venom) and a bear that Ganir took out with his bow and arrows.

When they finally made it out, they were greeted by Skyrim’s icy wind. They brought their hands to their eyes to shield them from the glaring, bright sun, which was also reflected in the untouched snow. But when a sudden roar came overhead, the three of them dove back into the cave and watched how the enormous, black dragon flew overhead towards the distant mountains. Its head craned from the left to the right as if looking for something.  
   
Ganir signaled for them to stay put and he carefully emerged from the cave to make sure it was safe with his bow and arrow at the ready. Cirilonde and Ralof waited, breathless as the Dark Elf disappeared from sight and for a moment, Cirilonde feared that he’d abandoned them, but he returned. “Clear,” he said. “Come on out. It’s safe.”  
  
Back outside again, Ralof looked around to get some grasp of his surroundings to determined where they were. He then turned to the two elves. “I don’t know what you got to Skyrim in the first place, but we were lucky that dragon came when it did.”

“I’m not so sure yet.” Cirilonde said. “We’re not out of the woods either, they _will_ be looking for us.”  
   
“She’s right…” Ganir looked around. They cave they had emerged from was a good distance away from Helgen and the roads. They could afford to linger for the time being. “Where exactly are we?”

“Well…Bleak Falls Barrow is over there...” Ralof pointed to the mountain north-west of them in the distance where the silhouette of a snow-covered ruin could be seen. “Helgen and Riverwood aren’t far apart…I have family there.”

The sudden realization that Helgen had just been ravaged by a dragon and that Riverwood was nearby, deeply troubled Ralof. “We should head there.” He decided. “You can come with me, if you like. My sister Gerdur and her husband, Hod, run the sawmill. We can lay low there.”  
  
Ganir looked at Cirilonde who still looked troubled and skeptical. Though she was more than relieved they had managed to escape with their lives, there was no guarantee for either of them that they weren’t wanted by the Imperials. But if she wanted to get to the College, she would have to risk it and then just maybe, they would forget all about her; the scared little she-elf. “I’d hate to push myself on your family, Ralof, as grateful as I am, but I should be on my way to the College.”  
  
“Though I’m sure we could use the food and rest before we’re on our way,” Ganir said. “We’ll leave for the College first thing in the morning and part ways.”  
  
Cirilonde furrowed her brow because there was no way or indicator that Ganir was a mage as well, so why would he-? “No offence to you, Cirilonde, but…I don’t think it’s wise for you to travel alone. So I’ll be escorting you.”  
   
Cirilonde heaved a sigh and ran a hand through her hair, feeling very tired all of a sudden as she knew the Dark Elf wouldn’t take no for an answer. “It’s settled then, I suppose…” she then looked back at the cave. “But…what about Jarl Ulfric and your comrades, Ralof?”  
  
“He’ll be fine, lass. We’re talking about Jarl Ulfric here, not some milk-drinking fool like Tullius,” Ralof assured her. “Besides, I don’t want to stick around and run into any Imperials, so let’s go.”  
They followed Ralof’s lead but didn’t stick too close to the roads to be certain. Ganir walked by Cirilonde’s side, who attempted to find a distraction from her thoughts in their surroundings.  
  
Skyrim was a land of raw, cold beauty. She could smell the pine trees and the rustle of the birch-tree’s leaves. Mountain flowers dotted the landscape where snow hadn’t fallen or where icy cold rivers made their way through the land. The terrain was uneven and coarse, and it showed in the hole-ridden roads, which were rarely paved as they had to wind around rocks, hills and other obstacles.  
   
“Forgive me if I’m prying…” Ganir started. “But out of curiosity, I must ask why the Thalmor would be after one of their own people all the way out here.”  
   
“Given that you’ve saved my life twice now, I suppose I owe you some sort of an explanation, don’t I?” She made to run a finger through her hair only to realize it was caked with mud and began picking it clean. “Though….I don’t even know myself…but, thank you, for everything. I appreciate it that you’re even willing to even escort me to the College. I had little trouble making my way here, but I think from here on out…It just wouldn’t be safe for me to be alone.”  
  
“Well, what did you expect with this civil war and that Thalmor filth slithering around?” Ganir didn’t veil his distaste for the Thalmor and pulled his hood back up to shield his eyes from the sun. For Cirilonde, the statement was…conflicting to say the least. Even back home the Thalmor were either heralded as the savior of the her people. The Thalmor would restore the Altmer to their former glory, or they were reviled and rebelled against. But outside of Alinor, the Thalmor were despised and about as welcome as a case of Rockjoint or Witbane.  
  
She herself, wasn’t sure what to think. Granted, she agreed that her kind held superior in a variety of matters, but her mother’s friends and the mentors at the Arcane University in Cyrodiil had not all been Altmer. On top of that, there had been countless scenario’s she’d either read about, if not witnessed, that showed humans proved to be remarkably resilient where most elves would have surrendered or had perished.  
  
Her father did hold a firm belief in High Elven superiority, but wasn’t as extreme to be an adamant, fierce supporter of the Thalmor and with good reason. But the Valanocke family had kept appearances; Falintaor’s position as an ambassador of the Dominion for the Thalmor permitted for his daughter to pursue a career in arcane studies.  
   
“So, are you going to keep me in suspense or would you rather not speak of it?” Ganir’s voice tore her from her train of thought. The statement could’ve been taken as demanding, but the small hint of a smile at the Dark Elf’s lips showed her he was teasing her a bit.  
   
She felt a pang in her chest as it reminded her of someone so dear to her, but gone. “All right, all right. Curious one, aren’t you?” She shook her head, but smiled. “Very well, I’ll tell you.”  
   
Cirilonde wasn’t about to tell him everything, but told him about her attendance at the Arcane University which was slowly but surely dragged into the political games by the Synod. Tiring of it, she was thankful to receive a request from her father to return home…but that all soon changed. Ganir could clearly tell the High Elf wasn’t telling him everything, but he didn’t pry and just listened, which was nice. She’d not had anyone to talk too in a long while… “I was just thankful that though our marriage was arranged and rather unexpected, he allowed me to come here to study…or so I thought.”  
  
“I’d comment on how dreadful the practice of arranged marriages can be, but my people practiced slavery for centuries, so I should hardly be the one to do so,” Ganir said dryly.  
  
“And it’s not just about bloodlines. It’s about diplomatic and political ties and…” she sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I just don’t understand…I _thought_ he understood. If I had known they would take offence and I’d get into all… _this_ …I never would’ve come here…”  
   
“And…your parents?” There was hesitation in the Dark Elf’s voice. “Will they be all right?”  
   
“They will be fine…” she nodded more to assure herself than anyone else. “They’ll be fine and they’ll manage. It’s probably why the Thalmor ambushed me all the way here so his family could blame it on the civil unrest…” But rather than reassured or comforted in any way, Cirilonde grew furious and not just with Taurmillan, but also with herself. _Just what was I thinking trying to run away-?!_  
   
“Don’t let these demons and fears you have, control you, sera.” Ganir laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently. “We’ve survived and I’ll see to it that you’ll make it to the College of Winterhold safe and sound, so you’ll have company.”  
   
When the Dark Elf smiled this time, Cirilonde couldn’t help what a handsome, rogue-ish one it was and she couldn’t help but return it. Whatever had happened, there surely would be some kind of explanation for it all, right? Though the nauseating feeling in her stomach lingered, she felt a bit better, thankful for the distraction.  
  
She then made to ask Ganir about himself when Ralof signaled for them to come closer. Though the Nord had absentmindedly listened to some of the conversation between the elves, he’d paid more attention to their surroundings before he got caught in his own line of thoughts. A dragon in Skyrim, just when they were all about to be executed... What did it mean? But his tired body and mind didn’t permit for him to think straight. Right now, all he craved was a warm, safe bed to sleep in with his belly full of mead.  
   
“Look…” Ralof looked at the two elves who’d joined him in hiding in the bushes behind a rotten, fallen tree. They both looked as miserable, hungry and tired as he was. “If you look over there, you’ll see we’re almost there and for so far, it seems we’re the first to actually make it here.”  
  
Cirilonde peered over the dead, rotting tree at the small village in the distance. A creek wound its way at the cobbled path’s side and through the village where a sawmill had been built on a small island. The village was small, consisting of a blacksmith, tavern, shop and maybe three or four houses made of claystone and wood. She choked back a startled shriek when Ralof pulled her back down by the sleeve of her filthy, tattered robes. “Let me do the talking and try to not attract unnecessary attention,” Ralof looked at the both of them. “Don’t. talk. To. _anyone_.”  
  
They nodded and followed Ralof into Riverwood. The sun had begun to set and it helped that most villagers were far too occupied to make their way home for dinner so they barely attracted any attention. An elderly woman about sixty years old or so swept the entrance to the Sleeping Giant Inn. She caught Ganir’s attention, for her discreet, keen gaze was not one of mere curiosity.  
   
They crossed the rickety, wooden bridge that permitted them to walk over the river to the saw mill, which was powered by the river’s stream. An enormous Nord stood at the sawblades, operating it by loading massive logs onto the bench before pushing it through the saw that tore away at the wood. “Oi, Hod!” When the man, obviously deafened by the racket from the sawmill, didn’t react, Ralof raised his voice. “ _Hod_!”  
  
“What?!” Hod turned to see who was calling him, furrowing his bushy brows when he saw the odd trio. “Ralof! What are you doing here?! Gerdur, come, look!”  
   
“I swear, if Sven has been taking one of his ‘ _naps_ ’ again….” Gerdur came from behind the mill, holding an axe she’d used to cleave the smaller logs into firewood. She was as tall as Cirilonde, but also twice as broad and tough. Her thick, coarse and blonde hair was bound back and her brow dripped with sweat from the hard work. “Ralof!” She dropped the axe into the grass and pulled her brother into a tight hug.  
   
“Keep your voice down!” Ralof hissed, but he couldn’t deny his sister’s hearty embrace and laughed, so glad to see her.  
   
“By Talos boy, you look like you took a beating!” Gerdur held his face when she pulled back. “What happened?!”  
  
“Not. Here.” Ralof motioned for them to join him behind the sawmill which made a far more safe and discrete spot for conversation out of sight from prying eyes and ears.  
   
“What are you doing here?” Gerdur asked, trying her best to keep her voice down. “You look like you wrestled a bear and lost! And who are these people? Friends of yours?”  
  
“We’ve wrestled something far worse, but I need this kept quiet.” Ralof told his family that the Stormcloaks had received an important tip about an Imperial supply caravan they had intended to raid. Sadly for them, they ended up being ambushed with the elves caught in the middle of it all. Thinking it was all over for them, assuming they’d be paraded into Solitude for execution the dragon showed its face and burned Helgen to ashes.  
   
“A _dragon_?!” Hod didn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you sure you didn’t take too hard of a noggin to the head after a tankard of mead or ten too many?” But these two elves…Ralof wasn’t the one to keep their company and they looked about as roughed up as his brother in law.  
   
“I can assure you there definitely was a dragon,” Ganir confirmed. “We were fortunate to escape with our lives and make our way here.”  
   
“I know it is a lot to ask for, but these two haven’t just saved _my_ life, but also of Jarl Ulfric and his men. They require but to stay for the night and will be on their way…I myself, however, may have to lay low a little longer.”  
   
“You know I have no problem with this. However…” Gerdur then turned to Ganir and Cirilonde. “If you leave tomorrow, I will need the two of you to go to Whiterun and inform Jarl Balgruuf. I still find it hard to believe, but if a dragon _is_ out on the loose, he definitely needs to know so he can send his men to protect us and salvage what remains of Helgen.”  
   
“Jarl? But Ulfric…” Cirilonde furrowed her brow, rather confused.  
   
“There’s multiple Jarls that rule their Holds across Skyrim,” Ralof explained. “Jarl Ulfric rules over Eastmarch from Windhelm whereas Balgruuf rules from Whiterun over the White Hold. He’s a decent and honorable man who looks out for his people rather than his own interests and has tried to remain neutral despite this Civil War. I wouldn’t worry about him ratting you out to the Imperials.”  
  
Ganir nodded. “Very well, I promise you that when we leave tomorrow, we will drop by your Jarl.”  
   
“You’ll find him in his palace, Dragonsreach, in Whiterun,” Gerdur said. “Make sure that only _he_ receives word to avoid causing panic.”  
   
“Very well, sera, we shall.” Ganir was reluctant to make the promise, but these people kept them safe with free shelter and refuge, so it was the least they could do.  
  
“Let’s get inside, it’s a good time as any to get a proper meal to end the work day,” Hod said. The three of them followed Gerdur and Hod across the bridge. They walked down the path between the General Trade Store and Sleeping Giant Inn to a large, stone and wooden house with a thatched roof that was larger than the others. Upon entering, they bathed in the warmth that lingered in the house from the hearth and Gerdur served them a thick, delicious mutton stew that had been simmering over the course of the day. All of it was devoured, along with anything else Gerdur served them as the lot of them were outright famished.

Once she’d eaten her fill, Cirilonde’s mind seemed to have energy to process everything that had happened. Absentmindedly, she picked at her robes, pouting slightly because it would definitely take some work to fix them, when Gerdur laid a hand on her shoulder.  
  
“Not to sound harsh, lass, but you look like you could use a wash and change of clothes. You can use one of my old dresses to keep you warm. By the time its morrow, your robes should be well and dry…”  
  
She was happy to accept and though she felt somewhat awkward receiving such warm hospitality from a complete stranger, she and Gerdur made some small talk while she washed up. “I’ll be honest, it’s nothing compared to what you were wearing, but it’ll have to do.” Gerdur hung her dress over the crude screen and chuckled when Cirilonde emerged, clad in her old work dress. Though they were about each other’s length, Gerdur was a fit, broad and strong woman whereas Cirilonde was slender and lithe so the dress slumped about her frame. “Such a shame about your robes,” Gerdur said as she held Cirilonde’s tattered, dirty robes out. “But I’m sure given the right needle work, they can still be saved. I’ll wash them for you.”

“Thank you very much again for your help and hospitality, Gerdur,” Cirilonde gave a small smile. “It’s most appreciated after what we’ve been through.”  
   
“No worries, lass. Come, let’s join the lads upstairs before they drink all my mead.” The two of them went upstairs again and sat by the fire while the men talked in hushed voices at the table. Though her keen ears could catch some of it, she could tell that Ganir was only listening with half an ear while he sharpened his daggers.

As much as she tried to suppress it, her mind began to wander once more. Again and again she ran through the scenario. If Taurmillan had consented to her wish to travel to Skyrim, why had these Thalmor agents been waiting for her? It was clear they intended to do her harm, but who had sent them? And why? Something didn’t add up and aside from worrying for her own safety from here on out, she feared the worst for her parents. And then there was the dragon; a creature of myth and legend, appearing out of nowhere at exactly the right time. Just what in the damned-?  
  
“You should get some rest, lass.” Gerdur’s voice startled the High Elf. Though she had heard the humming of Frodnar, Gerdur and Hod’s son, as he played with carved figurines by the fire, she herself had completely zoned out. “You’ve been through a lot. Get some rest. You can use Frodnar’s bed. He’ll sleep with us tonight.”  
   
Cirilonde glanced over her shoulder to the table where the men had been seated, but they were gone. Judging by the sound of it, they were downstairs to wash up as well. “I probably should. Thank you, once again, Gerdur.”  
   
Though she wanted to bid Ganir goodnight at the very least, her body said otherwise and she crawled into Frodnar’s bed where it was only a matter of minutes until she fell asleep.  
  
Ganir woke her the in the earliest hours of the morning. She wasn’t sure if he’d slept at all, because his face still showed the weariness and she wondered, thinking back of last night, if he’d even eaten anything at all. He dismissed her concerns when she voiced them. “We should be on our way.”  
   
Gerdur and Hod were already up as well and after a meal, the two elves said their thanks and goodbyes and went on their way. As early as it was, with the sun barely up, they were surprised to find that many locals were already up as well. Merchants drove their carts with wares to the cities of Skyrim while farmers herded their cattle to the fields.  
  
This was a good thing, because it helped the two elves blend in to a certain degree as Cirilonde wore Gerdur’s dress over her robes. Ganir wore one of Hod’s tunics over his armor, making the pair of them look much like peasants or another sort of common folk.    
  
They made their way down the road from Riverwood, across the bridge, to Whiterun according to Ralof’s directions, following the flow of the daily humdrum.  
  
“What’s bothering you?” Cirilonde slowed her pace to walk by Ganir’s side. _He’s either not a morning person or…_ “You heard what most people said; Helgen was destroyed and ‘no one could possibly have survived’. And they still don’t even know _what_ happened.”  
   
“They’ll find out soon enough, though, and there’s no telling if we’re _really_ the only ones to get away.” Ganir’s lips barely moved. What Cirilonde didn’t see or hear, was that though they blended in, the local folk knew one another and try as they might have, their faces were not familiar and judging by the stolen glances and hushed whispers, they had more attention than he would’ve liked to begin with. _But…circumstances…_ He thought, glancing at the female High Elf at his side. It hadn’t been his problem or business and he  tried telling himself that, but his hatred for the Thalmor won and perhaps… He cleared his throat when the High Elf raised a brow at him as he’d been staring at her from the corner of her eye. “When we get to Whiterun, I need you to stay out of sight and try to blend in with the crowd while I deliver my message to the Jarl. After that, we will leave right away to Winterhold. The further away from here, the better.”  
  
Cirilonde bit on her tongue because she didn’t like the idea of being left on her own but at the same time it was perhaps for the best she wasn’t seen at a Jarl’s court if…well, whoever was looking for her. She nodded and tried to enjoy the view as they had yet about an hour of walking ahead of them. Though she missed feeling the lush grass or warm sand under her feet and the glow of the sun on her face, Skyrim definitely held a rough, unkempt beauty; with Whiterun at its center.  
  
It was the first, large city of Skyrim she would visit and from this distance, it looked beautiful. A river ran past and through the city which was secure behind thick walls. Small farms surrounded the hills where cattle grazed on the lush, high grass. And all of it was under the watchful eye of Dragonsreach; a palace certain to be large enough to house a dragon. Though she couldn’t distinguish it clearly from the distance, it seemed that the building was decorated with ornate woodwork and all of the houses’ rooftops in the city were painted yellow.  
   
But as they came closer to the city’s gates, they came to a halt. Furrowing their brows at another, uncertain as to what was going on, they walked past the countless carts and merchants as they heard a commotion near the city’s gates.  
  
“These goods _must_ be delivered today  to be sold at the market!” A frustrated merchant pointed at his cart that was loaded with cabbages, carrots and sacks of potatoes. “If this food slows even the slightest sign of wear or rot, Nazeem will have my head! You know who he is, don’t you?”  
   
Five guards in total stood at the gates, clad from head to toe in chainmail armor with their faces hidden from view by helmets. Their shields and tabards donned the weapon of Whiterun; a white steed’s head. The guard that had to endure the farmer’s outburst let out an annoyed sigh, “Look, the Jarl’s orders were clear.” He then raised his voice so everyone else would hear. “No one gets into Dragonsreach while we look into the whole dragon attack business on Helgen.” He then angrily prodded the merchant in the chest. “So go home, or anywhere else as long as you don’t bother me. I’m just doing what I’m told to do, so scram and no lollygaggin’.”  
  
“Well, so much for the discretion Gerdur was hoping for,” Cirilonde muttered. “Looks like we have a problem then though, Gan-,…Ganir?” The High Elf looked around as the Dark Elf had disappeared completely and no matter where she looked, she didn’t see him anywhere. “Where in Oblivion…? Ganir?”

 

* * *

 

 

As impressive as the exterior of Dragonsreach was, the interior was even more so. The walls of the entrance hall was decorated with carpets and the heads of bears. Thick, ornate pillars and beams supported the walls and roofs of the palace. One could then walk up the steps to the Court Hall where the flames crackled in a pit at the center, sided by long tables which were now being vacated by the local nobles. Jarl Balgruuf sat on his throne, which stood on a raised dais so he had a clear view on all that went on in his court. Today, however, he had no idea what to think; either the people had gone mad, or…  
  
He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger before removing the golden band that rested on his brow. He swore that sometimes, it felt so tight around his head, like a burden. He stroked his beard thoughtfully and peered up at his brother;  Hrongar. Though both the Jarl and his brother were strong and honorable men, his brother was the warrior whereas he himself was the diplomat. Hrongar was clad in scaled armor and a tattoo emphasized the scars on his shaven scalp.  
   
At his left, stood a woman unlike any; Irileth, his Dunmer Housecarl. The woman’s red eyes burned as fierce and sharp a sabercat and her thick, brown hair was bound back. They had known one another for years and he couldn’t imagine a more loyal and suitable person to serve as his House Carl. “If the rumors from Helgen are true…”  
  
“My Lord, _please_ …” The lilt of the balding man who’d gotten up from the long table only aggravated Jarl Balgruuf. But he bit his tongue to hear what his advisor from Solitude, Proventus Avenicci, had to say on the matter, even if his patience with the Imperial snob was running thin. The man had proven to know and understand very little to nothing of his land or people. But, for the sake of maintaining good ties with Solitude, he’d let the man take a seat on his council as requested. Proventus was a balding man with a neatly trimmed, graying beard. Like most Imperial men, his jawline and nose seemed as though carved from stone as they were so angular. “…Surely you don’t believe this…nonsense of dragons returning? They’re a _myth_!” Proventus’ eyes shot from the Jarl to his brother and Housecarl who did not look too amused by his statement. “My Jarl, we _cannot_ afford any such rash actions with no tangible information on the matter. I just-,”  
  
Balgruuf slammed his fist down on the armrest of the throne. “So you would you rather have me do _nothing?_ ” His eyes shot fire at his advisor when Irileth unsheathed her sword. At first he made to chide her, thinking she’d drawn the blade on Proventus, but then followed her gaze.  
   
“You have a lot of nerve coming in here, stranger…” Irileth said to the Dark Elf who somehow had made his way in here and remained undetected until now. He stood in the shadow of the pillars near the long tables but close enough to the fire for his face to be visible. His hair was bound back in a ponytail and golden rings pierced his ears. Aside from his ragged, filthy attire there was something else Irileth couldn’t quite pinpoint about him…and she didn’t like it one bit.  “Speak up. How did you even get in here?”  
  
“I’m only here to deliver a message from Gerdur of Riverwood to the Jarl of Whiterun. Then I’ll be on my way,” Said the Dark Elf. His voice held a rough, silken charm and he didn’t seem phased in the slightest by the potential penalty he could face for intruding.  
   
Irileth’s eyes shot towards her Jarl, who signaled for her to sheathe her weapon. Though she didn’t like it one bit, she did so but her eyes never left the other Dark Elf. “Approach then, stranger and tell me what Gerdur of Riverwood wants.”  
   
“She calls for the Jarl’s men to come protect Riverwood.” The statement alone immediately peaked all of their interest. “Helgen was attacked and destroyed by a dragon. It was last seen flying near village’s mountains.”  
   
“Tell me, Proventus, would you still rather call for your damned ‘caution’ while a dragon burns down my Hold before the Stormcloaks or Imperials do?” Balgruuf asked in a sharp tone.  
   
“But Sir, we don’t _know_ this man! Let stand if we know he speaks the truth!” Proventus exclaimed in protest. The Dark Elf in the shadows raised a brow, clearly not pleased to be called a liar. “If you were to send your men to Riverwood, the Jarl of Falkreath could assume-,”  
  
“Enough!” Balgruuf snapped. “First  the rumors and now this stranger here. You keep assuming while _I_ choose not to ignore this. Irileth.”  
   
Irileth tore her gaze from the stranger. “See to it that some of my men are dispatched immediately.”  
  
“Yes, my Jarl.” Irileth shot Proventus a glare in passing as she went on her way to follow her Jarl’s orders.  
   
“As for you…” Ganir suppressed the urge to groan. He had only come here to do as Gerdur asked him for the sake of repaying their hospitality. Not to get caught in the middle of a problem that wasn’t his. But, given the situation he had found himself in because of it, he wasn’t about to offend a Jarl who could incarcerate him for his trespassing. “You’re clearly not from around here, yet you’ve come to warn me to protect my people.” The Jarl then grinned wide. “Don’t take me for a lazy, old fool, my good man. I’d not be fit to rule this hold if I couldn’t tell you’re wearing armor beneath those shoddy clothes. And no common peasant would manage to sneak past my guards so easily. I may have further need of your assistance, if you will.”  
   
“Balgruuf.” Hrongar stopped his brother in his tracks by grabbing hold of his shoulder. He kept his tone hushed. “Are you sure we can trust this…outsider?”  
  
“He would be a fool to try anything and he could have.” Balgruuf whispered back to his brother and then walked down the steps to meet the Dark Elf half way. “When we heard these rumors of dragons, my court wizard, Farengar, immediately dove nose-first into his books and seems to have stumbled on some sort of trail that there indeed might be truth to all of this. However, he’s come across a minor issue a man of your skills could perhaps solve.”  
   
The Dark Elf bowed his head. “I would be glad to be of help if it wasn’t for the urgency I be on my way to the South by carriage as soon as possible.”  
  
“Then I’m afraid you’re out of luck, friend,” the Jarl said. “With the situation as it is now in this land, after a series of raids on our trade caravans, we’ve taken the necessary precautions to ensure it will not happen again so they now all travel in groups on set days. The next carriage to arrive won’t be until two or three days from now, if you are lucky. However, if you were to help, I could perhaps arrange a horse for you.”  
   
Ganir wasn’t sure whether he was impressed with the Jarl’s skill to convince him, or dismayed that his excuse to bail out had backfired. But if it meant they could get a horse…Or perhaps two, depending on the severity of this ‘problem’. “Very well then…”  
  
He followed the Jarl to another room via the back of the Main Hall. In the middle stood a large tabe that was littered with a pile of tomes, books, scrolls and soul gems. Against the left wall stood a stone table with alchemy tools and to the back a scribing table for enchantments. A distinct, sharp and ‘crackling’ smell lingered in the air; magical residue. A large map of Skyrim was pinned on the wall, studied by a hooded figure in robes who scribbled notes down near the places he’d marked. “Yes…that all would make sense. But the books mentioned…” he muttered to himself.  
  
“Farengar.” The robed figure took a sharp breath, startled and he turned to see why his Jarl had come to interrupt his research. This had to be Farengar. He had to be about thirty years old or so. His face and nose were long, framed by messy, thin and blond hair.  
  
The mage made no attempt to veil the scrutiny with which he regarded the Dark Elf that accompanied his Jarl. _Armor underneath shoddy clothes. Definitely not from around here…Some kind of mercenary or…?_ “What would you require of me, my Jarl? I mean no disrespect when I say I am very busy still.”  
  
“I’m aware, which is why I’ve found you someone who may be able to help you with that little problem of yours you mentioned a few days ago. Until now, we thought it but drunkards’ tales that dragons were being sighted. This man comes from Helgen; it was destroyed and he could perhaps help you.”  
  
If Farengar was even slightly impressed, he didn’t show. Instead, he regarded the Dark Elf with the same skepticism as before. “A nameless survivor or a hero? Either way, if my Jarl thinks you can be of help, then I might as well make use of it.”  
  
“Then I will leave you to it, Farengar.” Balgruuf said and he left the Court Mage alone with the Dark Elf.   
  
“I shan’t burden your mind too much with the complex details of my research, but in order to progress, I require a certain… ‘ancient tablet’ of sorts which is rumored to be stored in what now is known to be a dangerous ruin. _If_ you were to even manage to survive delving into its depths, I cannot even guarantee it will even still be there.”  
   
_Pompous git…This had better pay off._ Ganir bit his tongue but crossed his arms over his chest. “Care to explain what a stone has to do with dragons?”  
   
“Leave the thinking to the schooled mind on the matter, friend. You see, this whole  research seemed like a waste of time at first until I came across … information. I consulted my contacts or obtained new ones and their resources pointed me in the direction of…” Farengar turned to tap his finger on the map. The more he talked about it, the more excited he got. The idea that dragons still existed or had returned somehow! “…Bleak Falls Barrow where a ‘Dragon Stone’ of sorts should be stored. It should contain a ‘map’ of the ancient dragon burial mounds that dot Skyrim’s landscape. If you can retrieve this for me, it would be of great help to my efforts.”  
  
The Court Mage then turned to see if the Dark Elf had understood any of it but found that much to his annoyance that the Dark Elf had disappeared.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, the Jarl introduced me to his Court Wizard, Farengar. Though they were considered drunkards’ tales, this Farengar investigated the dragon sighting rumors in spite of that fact. His research has led him to believe he requires a certain ‘Dragon stone’ from Bleak Falls Barrow. Thing is, I don’t want to leave you behind, but to delve into a tomb-,”
> 
> “Is dangerous because it’s potentially crawling with the undead?” Cirilonde raised a brow. 
> 
> As of 29-03-2016 this chapter has been rewritten for the purpose of improvement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As stated, this chapter was rewritten 29-03-2016. I felt some of my writing (while still not perfect) was lacking in a few departments in terms of the dialogue not flowing the way it could be and I felt I fell short in terms of how I described things for the story's flow etc. Hope it's better now.
> 
> Thank you for taking your time to read, re-read, comment and the kudos. They're appreciated =D

**The Unlikely Companions – Chapter 3**  
  
Being Nords themselves, Whiterun’s guards should’ve anticipated that though they’d made themselves clear, the locals would be stubborn and Cirilonde could only imagine their annoyance when the farmers and merchants made their camp in the close perimeter of the city’s gates.  
  
Cirilonde wandered around the camp in the hope to find Ganir, but figured he’d snuck off into the city…or so she hoped. She couldn’t help the gnawing fear and suspicion he had abandoned her here. Rather than sulk, however, she decided that it was perhaps best to wait it out while trying to find a back-up plan…just in case.  
   
It was then that a group of Khajiit,  the feline folk from Elsweyr, caught her eyes. They were setting up camp but away from the locals. Their tents were made of furs and leather, supported by wooden stilts and steel pins.  
   
Though Elsweyr was part of the Aldmeri Dominion, most Altmer scoffed at the alliance with the Khajiit as they considered the cat-folk to be primitive and superstitious and thus the land was considered nothing more than a client state to strengthen the Dominion. Cirilonde wasn’t too proud of being on the fence on the matter; this mainly because of her family’s delicate position to keep up appearances but all the same, it was why she was so fascinated by the mysterious cat people. What had brought them all the way out here?  
  
She was hesitant to approach, but when one of the Khajiit met eyes with her and smiled, she decided to man up and walked over to him. The Khajiit was clad in a thick layer of simple clothes that brought out the beautiful striped pattern of his gray and blue fur. His yellow eyes shone bright like the charms in his braided mane, beard and pierced ears.   
  
“Khajiit welcomes you, stranger.” The fashion in which he spoke was rather typical of a Khajiit, but his voice held the lilt and energy of an experienced merchant, traveler and perhaps, story-teller. He sat cross-legged in front of his tent where a variety of wares were hung and laid out. Most of it was common attire and tools but she also saw some cheap jewelry, baubles and trinkets that were definitely not of local make…or exactly legal. “Khajiit has wares if you have coin and a pair of ears if you but wish to talk.”  
   
“The latter if I’m not keeping you…” (*1) She briefly closed her eyes when a most alluring scent greeted her nostrils; a mixture of leather-bound tomes, burning embers and a sort sandalwood-based perfume. Was it the incense the Khajiit had lit earlier? The other Khajiit either hadn’t noticed her yet or were too occupied for the moment with unpacking and setting up another one of their tents. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to gawk at your wares,” she apologized clumsily when she felt as though brought from a daze and extended her hand to the Khajiit. “My name’s Cirilonde.”   
   
“Ri’saad sees no need for you to apologize and would rather welcome you,” the Khajiit gestured for her to have a seat on one of the rugs laid out in front of his tent. “He is most happy you actually approach. May Ri’saad ask if you are from around here?”  
  
There was no way for her to tell, but regardless of who he was our could be, Cirilonde knew she had to be careful. “Not really as I’m only passing through. What of you and your friends?”   
   
“From the heart of Elsweyr.” Cirilonde wasn’t sure, but if Ri’saad _could_ tell she was lying, he certainly didn’t seem to care nor did he pry further. “We travelled here in the hope to make our fortune through trade, but the Nords won’t even let us into their cities.”  
  
“Oh? Is that why you’re camped all the way here away from the locals?” Cirilonde had noticed that he Khajiit had been on the receiving end of distrusting glares and her keen ears picked up the whispered, outright racist insults from the locals.  
   
“They think of us as nothing more than skooma-addicted cutthroats and thieves.” Ri’saad scoffed and rather occupied himself with the emerald between his clawed index finger and thumb. He held it up in the light of the sun and he bared his teeth in a grin when it appeared the gem was one of proper quality. “It is their loss as Ri’saad and his friends meet plenty of wandering adventurers and soldiers on the road who are in need of a tit for tat.”   
   
“Soldiers…? So is it really that bad and dangerous out there?” Cirilonde asked. If Imperial soldiers patrolled the roads, it could complicate things if she and Ganir were wanted. “I mean, for you to travel so far from home only to run into all this trouble…And now this whole hold up here at Whiterun.”   
  
“The wise trader finds the best opportunities, even if he must travel far to find them.” It wasn’t Ri’saad but one of the female Khajiit who spoke. She had just finished setting up the last tent and sat down next to Cirilonde to warm herself by the fire. “And this land. It is so cold. Atahbah misses the warm sands of Elsweyr.”

“Atahbah is right,” Ri’saad nodded. “But the cold is certainly the least-,”  
  
Cirilonde stumbled back, startled, when Atahbah suddenly lashed out at the person behind herself who had deliberately stomped their foot down on her tail without warning. The High Elf’s initial outrage was soon replaced by confusion when it appeared this ‘someone’ was Ganir. He had wound Atahbah’s thick mane around his fingers in a firm grasp and held her in place, down on her knees. The female Khajiit attempted to tear at the Dark Elf with her claws but Ganir didn’t budge and his armor protected him. “Ganir-!”  
   
But she fell silent mid-sentence when she saw a familiar pouch fall from the Khajiit’s hand to the ground. “I recommend you don’t get caught stealing less you end up losing your paws, s’wit,” the Dark Elf growled in a low, menacing tone.  
  
“Get your filthy hands off me, _jetwijijri_!” (*2) Atahbah had her ears pressed flat and back on her head and her lip was pulled up into a snarl.  
  
Ri’saad stepped out in front of his comrades who’d come over to help Atahbah and he raised both his hands at Ganir and his companions. “Please, let us all calm down…” His voice shook and his eyes darted from his comrades to the elves and then to the guards in the background who hadn’t noticed any of the commotion…yet. Cirilonde’s eyes shot to Ganir; the last thing any of them needed was unwanted attention.“Mutsera, _please_ let Atahbah go,” Ri’saad pleaded. “I’m sure all this is-,”  
  
“-a misunderstanding?” Ganir sneered acridly as he threw Atahbah to the ground. “Consider yourselves fortunate I have more important things on my mind.” Before he turned and walked off, he gave Cirilonde a subtle nudge for her to follow him.   
  
Atahbah scampered to Ri’saad’s side, cradling her now crooked tail. Cirilonde snatched her pouch from the ground and double-checked its contents. She then glared at Ri’saad. “That could’ve ended badly, but I wonder why the locals don’t want you in their cities.”  
   
She then turned and made her way over to Ganir, who sat on a rock under the shade of a tree near the creek, away from the prying eyes and ears of the locals. “Was it _really_ that necessary to be so rough?” She then noticed he picked at his earring, clearly agitated. “Look, don’t get me wrong. I am thankful you caught them in the act, but that really could’ve gotten us into big trouble…well, we already are, I suppose…”  
  
Ganir gave a wry chuckle, which calmed him down some. “And be honest, they had it coming.” His grin disappeared and made place for a more serious expression. “On top of that, we have a bigger problem on our hands.” He threw a pebble and it skidded over the creek’s surface. “Because of this damn civil war and now this mess with that blasted dragon, merchants and the sorts travel together in guarded caravans. It will take days for the next one to arrive from Solitude.”   
  
As he talked, Cirilonde listened and watched him fidget with his earring and thick, stray strands of black hair. “The Khajiit told me the same before they decided to try and steal from me.” She grabbed a pebble herself and also sent it skidding over the water. “But you say it like you’ve got some sort of solution or plan.”  
   
Ganir nodded. “If the Jarl keeps his word. He seemed rather impressed I snuck into his city and offered me work in exchange for a horse. But given the urgency, I could perhaps get us two.”  
   
Cirilonde glanced up over her shoulders at the high walls behind the two of them. Whiterun’s walls were thick and strong; made of stone and wood. She wondered how the hell he’d managed to scale the walls unnoticed and get past the guards on patrol. “So, what exactly does this ‘job’ for the Jarl exactly entail?”  
   
“Well, the Jarl introduced me to his Court Wizard, Farengar. Though they were considered drunkards’ tales, this Farengar investigated the dragon sighting rumors in spite of that fact. His research has led him to believe he requires a certain ‘Dragon stone’ from Bleak Falls Barrow. Thing is, I don’t want to leave you behind, but to delve into a tomb-,”  
   
“Is dangerous because it’s potentially crawling with the undead?” Cirilonde raised a brow. “While Thalmor agents are your specialty, the undead are mine. I specialize in the schools of Restoration and Alteration.”  
  
“Well, that’s good to know. So you want to come along?” Ganir asked. He’d not exactly expected this sort of response, but he was glad all the same as he didn’t like the idea of leaving her behind in Whiterun while he took care of this.   
   
“I couldn’t possibly let you have all the fun now, can I?” For the first time since she’d arrived here, she grinned. “So what’s your plan?”  
  
“Well,” Ganir pointed at the mountains in Riverwood’s direction. “Remember when we got away from Helgen and Ralof pointed the ruins out? I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself, but from what I understood and have seen there appears to be a path that leads up there. But in all honesty, I have no idea what to expect.”  
   
“Well, it shouldn’t be too big of a problem for the two of us. We just need some supplies and go from there to prepare.” Cirilonde looked at the mountain in the distance. Though she couldn’t see the ruin from this angle, she could clearly remember she didn’t like the look of the place. “When do you want to go?”  
   
“Well, in terms of preparation…” Ganir had been given a simple bag by Hod but it was clearly no longer empty. “I merely took the liberty of helping us to some supplies.”  
  
He let her look into the bag; it contained a few tonics to cure wounds and restore one’s magicka reserves faster but also a cloak. “And _you’re_ chastising those Khajiit?!” she exclaimed in a hushed tone. “As if we’re not in enough trouble as is…” She puffed up her cheeks and took a deep breath, running a hand through her hair. _But we could really use this whether it’s for this ‘job’ or to get to Winterhold._  
   
“In all honesty, I ‘chastised’ them on getting caught. But if you’d rather freeze to death…” The Dark Elf’s lips curled into the most handsome, rogue-ish grin when Cirilonde took the cloak from him and put it on.  
   
“Get that grin off your face!” She tried to sound stern, but her face betrayed her. The cloak was perfect; made from leather and wool to shield her from wind, water and cold. “You’re a bad influence, you know that, right?”  
  
“Let’s just get going.” The Dark Elf shook his head and rolled his eyes as he walked off.   
  
  
The two elves walked back towards Riverwood and left the cobbled path once they found the partially hidden pass that led up the mountain towards the ancient, Nordic burial ruins. Some of the deer that had sought refuge in the bushes scattered from their hiding place when the elves got too close even though they found tracks of other animals and hunters in the snow.   
  
The further they made their way up, the harder the climb got as the snow reached their knees and below lay a slippery layer of ice. Cirilonde clutched her cloak tight to protect herself against the harsh, cold wind that picked up as well and sent the snow flying in a flurry around them. By the time they’d managed to make their way to the top it was close to sunset but they were rewarded with an amazing view on Riverwood. Not to mention that Bleak Falls Barrow was a sight to behold as well, especially now that they were so close.  
   
Nordic burials were perhaps not uncommon in Skyrim, but Bleak Falls Barrow must have been huge for its time and thus an unique sight in its own right. Not that much remained of what must once have been a grand temple of some kind; a victim of time and the cold weather. The latter had both been a damaging and preserving factor to the stone, carved pillars and archways that supported what remained of the catacombs’ entrance into the mountain. But Cirilonde’s eagerness to explore would have to wait as the two elves were forced to duck for cover and hide.   
  
They were not alone here as a group of men and women stood gathered near the entrance. The High Elf was certain they could hear her heart pounding. Ganir laid a hand on her shoulder and signaled for her to try and calm her breathing. She wondered how he could remain so calm and peer around the corner without getting caught as he listened in on the conversation. These were definitely not tourists, after all.  
   
_Six men and women._ Ganir thought as he sized them up. _Armed. Fur and leather armor….Grave robbers. Who else would come to this place?_  
  
“There had better be a good reason for dragging us all the way up to this godforsaken place, Arvel.” Said one of the men to a Dunmer; a slick-looking, unshaven man with dark red eyes and messy, brown hair.  
  
“Trust me on this Gedrick, if we do this right, we’ll be swimming in gold. Lucan’s such an idiot, he had no idea what his little trinket’s really good for.” The Dark Elf, Arvel, said. “So if you let me do the thinking, you lot do the smashing and bashing.”  
   
“The only thing I’ll ‘smash ‘n bash’ is your head if I find out you’re lying, elf.” Gedrick growled.   
  
“I’m not, so why don’t you go on inside so we can get down to business?” Arvel glared at the massive Nord who carried a massive Warhammer with the ease as one would hold an infant. “I don’t exactly want to freeze to death out here just because you’re too scared.”  
  
“Piss off then, knife-ear, before I give you a reason to be scared.” Gedrick shoved Arvel out of his way and followed by his fellow brutes, they went inside.   
  
Arvel spat in the snow. “Fucking s’wit fetcher.” But then followed as the last after making sure no one had followed them up here.  
   
“I don’t like the looks of this,” Cirilonde whispered as soft as she could. “I mean, isn’t it quite a coincidence they’re here?”  
   
“Grave robbers are _never_ a coincidence. They’re a cancer you’ll have to deal with no matter where you go.” Ganir grumbled and he tugged at his beard as he thought of a way to handle this. Had he been alone, this wouldn’t have been a problem, but Cirilonde was with him and he _did_ need her help. “Saves they’re not the brightest lot, so we should be able to trail behind them and incapacitate them somehow…” He gently pushed Cirilonde back when she made to follow him. “Wait here. I need to make sure it’s safe. I’ll come and get you when it is.”  
   
Though she was reluctant, she nodded and agreed. After a few minutes, Ganir indeed returned and he guided her into the barrow to a safe spot where they could both hide.  
   
Given how small the barrow’s entrance had been, Cirilonde had expected the interior to be dark, damp and cramped but the entry hall to this barrow was a large, cavernous space. Parts of the roof had either collapsed or purposely been made ages ago for Divines knew what purpose. Snow fell through these holes and sparkled in what little light illuminated the ancient ruin’s interior.  
   
In the far back, sided by coffins, was a large pair of doors where the grave robbers and Arvel stood gathered around. With all the caution they could muster, Cirilonde and Ganir snuck closer and hid behind a stone casket.  
  
“It’s just a damn seal!” Arvel exclaimed, rolling his eyes and clearly agitated. “Just smash the door in already.”  
   
“Yeah, of course, let the real men do the hard work, huh?” Gedrick pulled his axe from his belt as he pushed himself past Arvel, whose lips curled into a sly, conniving smirk as he backed away. Gedrick swung his axe but the moment the steel shattered the wax and stone seal tied that had secured the door so long a powerful ‘gust’ of energy knocked the grave-robbers on their backs. Cirilonde dove from her hiding place and heaved a sigh of relief when she and Ganir both caught the urns that had stood on the casket where they had hidden. An eerie, tense silence lingered where no one dared move and held their breath.  
  
These grave-robbers had just broken an enchanted seal that was clearly not meant to just keep unwanted visitors out and this visibly unsettled the Nords. They had their weapons already drawn but their knuckles paled as they gripped them tighter with each, passing second. Cirilonde’s startled whimper went unheard when the caskets surrounding the doors suddenly burst open.  
   
No one exactly knew how the Draugr came to be or function, but whether related to those buried within or not, these undead were tasked to guard all against unwanted visitors such as these grave robbers. The Draugr were repulsive creatures with leathery, dry skin and their slack-jawed, gaunt faces were framed by what little wiry and matted strands of hair were left on their heads. Their hollow sockets lit up with an eerie, blue glow when they woke. Their bony fingers clutched the crude hilt of their ancient weapons and they climbed out of their caskets to face the grave robbers.  
   
It had been clear Arvel had foreseen this from the start and rather than fight alongside the brutes, he sprinted down the hall that had been sealed up for so long. “Where do you think you’re going, you rat?!” Gedrick bellowed and chased after the swift Dark Elf. This left the others to fight the Draugr who were far more fierce and strong they would initially appear to be.  
  
Though the Draugrs’ bones and joints cracked, they swung their weapons with deadly accuracy and Cirilonde couldn’t help but notice they seemed to speak some kind of ancient, guttural language. Was it Ancient Nordic, perhaps? Over the racket she wasn’t able to tell.  
  
It was clear that the grave-robbers were more brawn than brains because they underestimated the Draugr. The first grave-robber, a young but strong man, was the first to fall when he thought he could rip the Draugr’s head off. Infuriated, the Draugr crushed the young one’s windpipe and flung him against the wall over another, stone casket. “Focus on one!” the second cried, but neither were competent with blade or axe. Though they managed to take one of the Draugr down, they fell one by one.  
  
Cirilonde and Ganir couldn’t tear their eyes from the horrible scene that played out before them. Not only were the Draugr capable of speech but had memorized whatever fighting techniques they had learned when alive and executed them without flaw…or mercy.   
When the last grave-robber tried to flee, the Draugr flung his axe at her and it killed her instantly when it struck her in the back. The Draugr slumped over and pulled his weapon from the corpse. It then snarled at the darkness as it sought for other signs of intrusion or intruders. Cirilonde held her breath until the Draugr climbed back into its casket and once it crossed its arms over its chest, did the light fade from is sockets.  
   
_Behavioral intelligence, the ability to communicate and memorize…Astounding!_ Cirilonde had dealt with a variety of undead throughout the years but she had never seen anything like this. “Since it’s only seen those grave-robbers once that seal broke, the Draugr must think it has fulfilled its duty,” Cirilonde muttered her observations more to herself than to Ganir, who nodded in agreement nevertheless. “If we’re really quiet, we should be able to sneak past it.”  
   
“We should check their bodies though.” Ganir’s lips barely moved as he whispered. “They were clearly here with some purpose to find something so they might have some more information on this place for us.”  
  
Their eyes never left the Draugr once they managed to come closer but the grave robbers seemed to have little of use on them, save for some gold pieces.   
  
“Ganir, look.” Cirilonde whispered and beckoned him over. She held a journal she’d found lying on the ground near the door. “It’s Arvel’s.”  
  
“Didn’t think the fetcher would be able to write or read.” Ganir grumbled and knelt down next to Cirilonde who skipped through the journal’s pages to scan its content.  
   
“Seems that this trinket from this Lucian is a ‘golden claw’ of sorts which should lead to some kind of treasure of great power…” Cirilonde sought Ganir’s eyes with a worried expression. “Do you think he knows about the stone? Could more people be looking into this?”  
  
A variety of thoughts and theories ran through Ganir’s mind but he decided not to dwell on them, or share them, for that matter. The only concern he had in this situation was to get this dragon stone before Arvel did, if he was after it, and get to Winterhold as fast as possible. “Let’s be on our way. We only have two of them left to deal with.”  
  
Cirilonde held him in place by the shoulder when he made to get up and nearly knocked an urn over. “We _really_ need to be careful,” she cautioned him. “These Draugr aren’t a joke.”  
  
The Dark Elf nodded and they made their way deeper into the barrow. Though some of the braziers dangling from the ceiling and torches along the walls had been lit, both elves had to squint their eyes to make sure they wouldn’t accidentally walk into something that would activate any traps or wake the Draugr by accident. Though the air was dry and a weird scent hung in the air, they could feel a draft from an uncertain direction, which gave Cirilonde the chills. This place was really ancient, even for elves like them. They would be wise not to tread lightly here as no one had set foot in these ancient ruins which were in plain sight.  
   
And to add to their concerns they also had Arvel to deal with, who would prove to be just as dangerous when they caught up with Gedrick, who lay face-down and dead on the ground in a room deep within the ruins. The shelves of an ancient closet lay in shambles on the ground. A table lay broken in the center of the room and the offerings, linen wraps and other burial tools lay scattered around the room.   
  
Ganir signaled for Cirilonde to wait where she was and he walked down the last few steps to make sure the room was safe. His eyes scanned the shadows and the scene before him. _He clearly tried to ambush this Gedrick and failed. They fought…_ He knelt down next to Gedrick’s body and held a large shard in his hand. _Poison. Drastic and desperate measure, but it did the job…_   
When he signaled it was safe, Cirilonde made her way over to him. She looked rather horrified by the dead Nord’s bloodshot eyes and the mixture of vomit and foam that poured from his mouth.  
  
“Seems like that fetcher had no intent on sharing.” Ganir said while searching the man’s pocket. “I’d feel sorry, but…they had it coming. Scum.”  
   
Cirilonde couldn’t help but agree in spite of the cruel fate these men had met. They had disturbed and disrespected the dead to rob them! “This Arvel is going to be trouble. We can’t let our guard down,” she said.   
  
As they continued their way deeper into the barrow, they found that some passages had collapsed and others had remained intact, buried under a thick layer of dust. Ancient herbs and plants were hung from the ceiling if not laid out on the solid, stone tables or laid in heavy-looking cabinets, accompanied by ancient, rotten tomes and urns containing…well, the elves weren’t sure if they wanted to know.  
  
As they progressed deeper into the ruins, they found that Arvel had literally slashed his way through anything that got in his way. The Draugr that had woken from their slumber to protect their temple and catacombs had been cut down by him and left a trail of blood for them to follow. But this was not Cirilonde’s primary focus. She had noticed how the walls seemed to change in terms of structure and color along with the carvings etched into them that seemed to tell some kind of tale. But how was it possible that all this had been spared by the passing of time without flaw? And how could these damn cobwebs get thicker and…stickier?  
   
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” Ganir used his dagger to tear at the sticky mess and push it out of their way. But Cirilonde let out a shriek when some of it clung to her hair and she initially thought it was some kind of beast. She stumbled against Ganir when she tripped over an urn and the both of them fell. Not only did this make a ton of racket as the urn shattered into pieces, it was the source of the racket that unsettled them. Countless bones lay strewn on the floor, which had previously been entangled in the webs.   
  
The both of them lay still in fear of whatever they could have awakened when they suddenly heard a voice. “Is…Is someone there? Is that you Harknir? Bjorn? Gedrick?” It was Arvel.  
  
Ganir helped Cirilonde to her feet but pressed his index finger against her lip to shush her. He motioned for her to follow him and they carefully inched closer to where they thought Arvel would be and found him in a large, open room. _Of course, it couldn’t just be cobwebs…_ Cirilonde stifled the urge to groan.  
  
Spider eggs were littered all over the room, some hatched, some not. The walls were hidden under a thick layer of webs and like the hallway, bones of small animals and Divines knew what else lay strewn on the ground, if not wrapped up and left dangling from the ceiling. This had to be a Frostbite Spider’s nest. Arvel had clearly thought he could just rush and cut through the webs and either had gotten tangled up…or he’d been caught and wrapped up.  
He stopped wriggling when he saw Ganir and Cirilonde. “Sweet breath of Arkay.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Help me before it gets back!”  
  
“Stay close,” Ganir whispered to Cirilonde before he carefully made his way over to Arvel and grabbed the Dark Elf by the collar of his web-covered shirt. “Give me _one_ good reason, fetcher. You didn’t seem to mind betraying your friends and leaving them for dead.”  
  
“What? _Never_!” he sputtered. “I thought they were right behind me, I…I-,”   
  
Cirilonde glanced from the floor up to the ceiling when she saw the shadows shift and her green eyes grew wide and large. “Ganir…” she tugged at his tunic but her eyes never left the enormous, grotesque and horrible shadow that slowly and silently descended from the thick shroud of webs on the ceiling.   
  
Ganir whisked the whimpering High Elf’s hand away as he was keen to settle things with Arvel. “Suppose I do help you. Are you going to explain me what you’re doing here?” Ganir held his dagger against Arvel’s throat as a warning. Arvel grinned and nervously eyed the dagger, but when he saw the reflection in the blade, his eyes went wide as well and shot up.  
  
His lips moved as he tried to voice his utter horror in some way. He was _terrified_ of spiders and this behemoth was one straight out of his nightmares. Because the elves had made such a ruckus and had tugged and torn at her webs, she must’ve felt something was up and came skittering over as fast and silent as she could.  
   
“Ganir!” Cirilonde shoved Ganir out of the way in time and used a magical ward to protect herself against the venom the enormous Frostbite spider had spat at them. Ganir clung to the web in the process and Arvel  was sent flying, still wrapped up in the webs.  
  
“You s’wit!” Arvel swore as he crashed onto the floor and shattered a bunch of old urns and pots in the process. “Cut me loose. Cut me loose, damnit!”

They had no time for that as the spider charged at Ganir and then at Cirilonde, who threw rocks at the arachnid to get its attention. Ganir used this to his advantage and tore away at the spider’s repulsive, thick and hairy legs. The spider shrieked in pain and anger as it reeled to face Ganir and snapped its mandibles at him.   
  
“Keep throwing rocks, Ciri!” Ganir managed to dodge the spider fairly well, but he didn’t want to press his luck. Cirilonde ran and dove for the ground to scrap whatever she could from the floor to throw but at the same time, she was forced to maintain a ward to protect herself from the spider’s venom. But the longer it took, the more agitated the spider got and since Ganir was the main source, the spider charged at him. Ganir knew it was a case of ‘now-or-never’ and when the spider got close enough, he threw himself to the ground before the mandibles could strike him. He skidded over the floor on his back and buried his daggers into the spider’s gut, tearing and stabbing away at the soft, hairy shell. Helpless and experiencing nothing but pure anguish, the spider reared and cried out before it fell on the ground where it sputtered before it ceased to move. It was dead.  
  
The two elves had thrown themselves against the nearest wall to make sure they wouldn’t get bitten or hit and looked at each other, the both of them out of breath and still unbelieving of this beast’s size they’d just slain together.  
   
Ganir carefully nudged the dead spider with his boot to make sure it was dead. Cirilonde dared not inch closer and stared at the arachnid’s corpse with disgust. “Well, seems you also make fine pest control,” the Dark Elf smiled at her and patted her on the shoulder.  
   
“Are you all right?” she asked though she was shaking herself.  She had _never_ seen such a large spider and was conflicted between fear and scholarly interest to study it, though there was no time to indulge in such an endeavor.  
  
“I am.” He then walked over to Arvel, who had occupied himself with trying to worm his way out of his confinement. Ganir put a boot on Arvel’s chest and leaned over him. “Now, before I was rudely interrupted by the eight-legged mistress of the house, I recall you and I were still discussing some matters. So where do you think you’re going?”  
  
“Nowhere except trying to get out of _this_ mess?” He looked down at the webs that confined him still. “You know, like I’ve been trying to ask you from the start to maybe cut me loose so I can actually help you?”  
  
“Try anything and you will regret it.” Ganir warned and after cutting Arvel loose, he sheathed his dagger, which was the biggest mistake he could’ve made. As the grave-robber got to his feet, he grabbed hold of a stone jug, sprang to his feet and hit Ganir over the head with it. Dazed from the blow, Arvel pulled one of Ganir’s daggers from its sheath and put it to Cirilonde’s throat as he pulled her against him, holding her from behind.  
   
Entirely against his expectations, however, Cirilonde gracefully swooped with the momentum of Arvel’s stance and threw him off balance by side-stepping him. “Why you…little…wretch!” Arvel grit his teeth, trying his hardest to gain the upper hand again. He threw all his strength against her and Cirilonde was thrown against the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of her lungs and she gulped for air when Arvel gripped her by the throat.  
   
The palm of her hand glowed a bright red and she slapped it against his face. Arvel tore away from her and clutched his burnt face, swearing and crying. “You _bitch_! I will gut you-,”  
  
But Arvel never even got close to her. He gulped for air when he was struck from behind and his whole body went rigid from the pain and confusion. He looked over his shoulder at the other Dark Elf who had buried his other dagger into Arvel’s back, piercing one of his lungs. “I’ll be taking this, thank you,” Ganir tore his dagger back from Arvel’s hand and used it to stab Arvel in the chest; ensuring his instant death and he slumped to the floor. “Told you not to try anything,” he grumbled angrily. “Fucking s’wit. Don’t touch my daggers.”  
   
Cirilonde reached for her throat, uncertain how to feel about Arvel’s cruel demise save for sorry and she kicked his body for good measure. “Fucking bastard,” she growled.  
  
“Are you all right?” Ganir asked while cleaning the blood off his blades. “Though I must say, you handled yourself rather well.”  
   
“I’m fine, thank you.” Cirilonde said this more to reassure herself than him. “I’m not that helpless, you know. I just can’t believe that-! He tried to _kill_ me!”  
   
“Yeah, I’m starting to see a pattern develop here where everyone seems to be hell bent on killing us.” Ganir snorted and knelt down to search Arvel’s body with Cirilonde to find this ‘golden claw’ Arvel had mentioned in his journal and found it in his backpack.  
   
“It’s actually…exactly what it is.” Cirilonde studied the odd-shaped ornament, quite certain this wasn’t a claw like a wolf’s or bear, but a dragon’s claw, made of solid gold. In the palm, lay the inscriptions of the bear, owl and moth.  
  
“What do you reckon it’s for?” Ganir queried as he took it from her and looked at is as well, poking at the golden ornament’s claws.  
  
“Judging by the markings and indentations, it seems that like Arvel’s journal suggests, that it can open something. But before anything, let’s figure that out on the way because I _really_ don’t like this place.”   
  
In the scuffle with Arvel, some of the webs on the wall had been torn away and had revealed a doorway. Ganir cut the remainder of it away and they made their way even deeper into the catacombs. As silent as they could, they snuck past the ‘sleeping’ Draugr, but in spite of their caution, they were startled from time to time that not all of them slept and Cirilonde had to use her spells to Turn them which left them wandering off in a daze for enough time to permit them to get away.  
   
They walked down a long hallway of which the walls held crevices where Draugr lay sleeping. The two elves froze when the torches and braziers suddenly lit up when a gust of wind passed them. Their eyes darted from each other to the countless Draugr that lay unmoving and they quickly made their way to the door at the end, closing it shut behind them.   
  
_This has to be it._ Ganir seemed just as in awe as she was, as this hallway was completely deserted and untouched. The walls’ inscriptions were as if newly carved from the stone and depicted the tale of an ancient battle where some kind of great hero perished. At the end of  the hallway was a door unlike either had ever laid eyes on. It was made of separate segments of stone that could rotate while still connected to one another; the focus lay on the door’s center where the claw would fit. On these separate, round segments, were the sigils of the owl, bear, fox, eagle, moth, snake and whale. These could be rotated to be aligned into the proper combination and it didn’t take a scholar to figure out how this would work in combination with the claw.  
  
“All right, let’s do this.” Ganir cracked his knuckles after Cirilonde had a quick gander at the claw and the two elves grit their teeth as they moved the heavy, stone segments of the door to align properly until they heard the mechanism ‘click’. The both of them stepped back, beads of sweat coating their foreheads. “Want me to do it?” he asked Cirilonde, who looked hesitant.  
  
“No, it should be fine. There doesn’t seem to be any sort of trap like Ayleid or Dwemer ruins do…”  Cirilonde’s hands shook as she placed the claw in the center where it fit perfectly. She then turned it and the stone door rumbled as ancient mechanisms were put to work. The door sank into the crevice below and revealed a cavern far more ominous than the whole barrow all together.  
  
Bats shrieked when they were scared away from their hiding place above the door that’d been sealed for so long and scattered. The elves dove to the ground and waited until they were gone before they made their way to the sunlit platform up ahead.  
  
Neither of the elves could believe their eyes and were at a loss for words at the sight before them. Water poured from the roof and formed a small pond around the platform and disappeared into an underground creek. They walked across the stone bridge up the steps to the top which was overlooked by a strange, crescent-shaped shaped wall riddled with claw-like writing of some kind. A dragon’s head was carved from the center.  
  
It looked like an ordinary, but interesting wall, until they got close and though Cirilonde could sense it, Ganir felt as though a surge of energy punched him in the gut and his pupil’s dilated when he froze in place.  
  
“C-can you feel that?” he asked her. The claw-like carvings in the wall seemed to be words, but nothing like he’d ever seen before. Yet, it emanated a strange energy that beckoned him closer. His gloved hands trailed over the coarse relief as the words echoed in his mind.

_“Het nok faal vahlok  
Deinmaar do dovahgolz  
Ahrk aan _**fus** _do unslaad.  
__Rahgol ahrk yulom.”  
  
_ Ganir stumbled back from the words as if burned, startled as he had spoken a language he had never even heard about. Cirilonde had caught him and looked just as troubled. “Are you all right? What happened? Just…what is this…thing?”   
  
“I’m fine.” He got to his feet but was still a bit shaken. “Dunno what happened though. But whatever it is, this must be the ‘treasure’  those s’wits hoped to find.” Try as he might, one word echoed in his mind: _Fus._ But he decided not to tell Cirilonde lest she think he was mad.  
   
“So…could this be the ‘dragonstone’ that the Court-Wizard wanted you to get?” Cirilonde’s eyes took in all of the details of this odd, stone wall. She had picked up the brief energy it emanated, but it could have been a trick of the mind, she guessed. Nevertheless, it looked incredibly ancient and she wondered what purpose it had served. “We’re going to need a bigger bag.”  
  
“I doubt this is it, to be honest.” Ganir and she both looked at the casket that lay near the wall. At its foot stood a large chest and next to it a dresser with a variety of trinkets and small chest laid out on the shelves. “Let’s have a look here.”  
  
Ganir had hardly taken a step closer when the casket’s lid was sent flying by the Draugr who had lain dormant within. “Not good!” Ganir grabbed a hold of Cirilonde and pulled her behind him. “Let’s put your expertise to the test, shall we?”  
  
The Draugr who had climbed out looked very different from the ones they’d encountered prior to this. It was clad in ancient, chain armor and wielded a battle-axe which he swung as a warning once it laid its eyes on the two elves. _“Faaz! Pal! Dinok!_ ” it snarled and charged at them with surprising speed and vigor, forcing the two elves to run while they formulated their plan.   
  
“You saw what he had on his back, right?” Ganir said to her as they stood on the other side of the platform. It was perhaps not the best place, but it bought them some time and space to dodge and outrun the Draugr, who was getting more and more agitated by the two elves he couldn’t catch.   
  
“Just get his attention!” Cirilonde shouted at him as they were forced to split up.   
  
This was as easy as said and Ganir charged at the Draugr with the intention to side-step and tackle it, but the Draugr opened its rotten maw and spat three words that sent Ganir flying, “FUS RO DAH!”  
  
The Dark Elf rolled over the ground and nearly fell over the edge into the water but he dug his dagger into the ground, also buying him the momentum to scramble to his feet before the Draugr could bury his axe into the Dark Elf’s skull. The Draugr grunted as it tried to dislodge the axe from the stone but froze and fell stiff to the ground after it was struck from behind by Cirilonde’s spell.  
  
Had its face been able to bear any kind of expression, it no doubt would’ve been one of confusion and surprise. But Ganir wasn’t about to risk anything and slammed both his daggers down in the Draugr’s chest and forehead. Its eyes ceased to glow and the body went limp. It was now truly dead.  
  
“Oh Auri-El, _really_ , Ganir?” Cirilonde gagged, disgusted by the nasty, squishing sound the Draugr’s body made when Ganir pulled his daggers from the body.   
  
“I’d rather not risk it coming after us.” Ganir wiped his daggers clean on the Draugr’s rags with a look of disgust as bits of flesh and gods-know-what hung from the blade. “We don’t know anything about these… _things_.”  
  
“You’ve got a point…” Cirilonde said and helped him remove the dragonstone that was strapped to the Draugr’s back.  Ganir held it up and looked at it before he put it into the bag.   
  
“Best we get the hell out of here before something else decides to wake up,” Ganir said. “This had better be worth it.”

 

* * *

 

*1: Rather than a spell of some sort to charm people, I figured Ri’saad to be the crafty sort who’d use incense with a ‘charm’ effect of some kind.  
  
*2: ‘Jetwijijri’ means ‘cut-skin’ or ‘shaveskin’ in the Khajiit (Ta’agra) language according to taagra.com and is a common insult for Khajiti against non-Khajiti.   
  
“Het nok faal vahlok  
Deinmaar do dovahgolz  
Ahrk aan fus do unslaad.  
Rahgol ahrk yulom.”  
  
_Here lies the Guardian  
Keeper of the Dragonstone  
And a force of  
eternal rage and darkness_  
_  
_ Faaz! Pal!  Dinok!  
_Pain! Shame! Death!_

 


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dragon pulled its leathery lips into a snarl. “Know that you face Mirmulnir, elf, and I will be your demise.” 
> 
> And of course, we are introduced to Ancano...\
> 
> Rewritten as of 18-04-2016

**The Unlikely Companions – Chapter 4**

Every eve, the prominent inhabitants of Dragonsreach would gather at the long tables surrounding the fire for dinner. Unlike other evenings, however, the atmosphere held a certain tension of anticipation. “I’m certain Irileth is fine, my Jarl,  it is just the merchant’s encampment that could’ve prohibit-,”  
  
“I’m well-aware, Proventus.” Balgruuf snapped. “Irileth will be fine. She’s my House Carl for a reason but that doesn’t mean I like her running late. _Farengar_!”  
  
The Jarl had called his name so sudden and loud that Farengar sent his spoon flying and he exhaled sharply to conceal the swearing under his breath. The laughter of the Jarl’s children, (Frothar, Dagny and Nelkir) was drowned out by that of Hrongar. “Gentle with our Court-Wizard, my brother! You know how soft he is.”  
  
Normally, Balgruuf would have laughed and apologized, but the Jarl had been impatient and tense. His eyes lingered on the Court-Wizard. “Any progress on your research yet, Farengar?”  
  
Farengar refrained from heaving an agitated sigh and clenched his hands into fists under the table. “Well, your protégé has hopefully actually gone off to retrieve what I need as asked. Until then, there are a few variables I will have to research with my resource, but I will. Need. _Time._ ” He then got up. _So much for a peaceful dinner._ “So if you will excuse me, I will be returning to that.”

Not that he was planning to do any of that. He was so stressed that instead, he planned to spend the evening tinkering with enchantments, potions or perhaps read a good book to relax. But upon reaching his quarters, his face bore the expression of dismay when he laid eyes on the woman who had been waiting there for him. She would _definitely_ put a damper on his plans.  
   
This woman was the ‘reliable resource’ he’d been referring too; a mysterious Breton clad in leather armor and her face went partially hidden under the shadow of her hood. But from the few glimpses he’d caught of her face, Farengar estimated her to be about sixty years old. She stood leaning against the support beam that hid her from the sight of anyone who’d pass by.  “Good to see you, Farengar. Have you made _any_ progress at all?” She asked.  
   
Farengar narrowed his eyes at her, “In case this fact eluded you, I’m the Jarl’s Court Wizard and I’m not permitted the lenience to neglect my day-to-day tasks.” He grabbed the orange, leather-bound book from a nearby bookshelf and slammed it down on the table for her to read.  
  
The woman ignored Farengar’s outburst and she skipped through the book’s pages. “ _Holdings of Jarl Gjalund_ …?” She raised a questioning brow.  
  
_Do I really need to spell this out for you?_ Farengar rolled his eyes and joined her side. “If you read closely, you can tell the terminology is form the First Era, if not earlier,” he explained and he tapped on the sections he was referring too. “It seems here that it’s all dated just after the Dragon War, meaning I could cross-reference the names with other, later texts.”  
  
“So you _have_ made progress.” The woman concluded in the same, bossy tone Farengar found harder and harder to tolerate. “My employers have been eager for tangible answers.”  
  
“We’ve received word from what happened to Helgen earlier today,” he then said and looked at her to see how she would react. She merely gave a nod. She probably already knew…somehow. “Hopefully, the Jarl will not permit me to devote more time to this research.”  
  
“I don’t think I need to remind you that this is just some ‘theory’ you’re delving into, Farengar,” the woman reminded him in a stern, hushed tone. “Dragons _have_ returned and they’re destroying cities, killing people.”  
   
“Yes, of course, but could you ima-,” Farengar’s voice trailed off when the woman’s gaze locked onto something…or rather, someone else.  
   
_I didn’t even hear him…_ The nameless Dark Elf had returned, but he was no longer wearing that shoddy tunic to hide his armor, which was clearly one of a kind. It was made of a peculiar dark leather and he could detect the subtle hint of strong enchantments on the pieces. “Have you been successful in retrieving the tablet like I’ve asked you?”  
   
Ganir merely raised the bag that contained the Dragonstone, but his distrusting gaze never left the woman’s. He’d seen her sweep the porch of the Sleeping Giant Inn back in River wood. Who was she really if she was here in this whole cloak and dagger get-up? He didn’t like either theories came to mind, but it’d have to wait for now. “It’s yours if you got your payment ready.”  
  
“If you don’t mind, I’ll want to-,”  
  
“Farengar!” Irileth had come storming into his study, startling the Court-mage who swore under his breath. “You need to come at once. A dragon was spotted nearby!”  
  
Both Ganir and the woman ceased to glare at one another and their heads snapped in Irileth’s direction. _Cirilonde…_ Ganir tried to appear as calm as possible. Could this be the same dragon they’d seen at Helgen?  
  
“And you, _stranger_ ,” Irileth snapped at Ganir. “The Jarl will want you to come as well _._ ” Though he’d proven himself to be somewhat reliable by actually completing Farengar’s little task, she had more reasons to distrust him. All she knew was that he travelled together with an Altmer female and the both of them had come from Helgen to Riverwood…And shortly after their arrival in Whiterun, a dragon suddenly appeared.  
   
Ganir wished he could convince himself that none of this was his concern or problem as he was far too curious. Was this another dragon, or the same one they’d seen in Helgen? Though, more importantly, would Jarl Balgruuf keep his word for retrieving the damn stone? In spite of all that, he was rather reluctant to follow Irileth and Farengar up to the briefing room, which was up the stairs past the throne room.  
   
The walls of this rather large room were decorated with tapestries, weapons and shields bearing the weapon of Whiterun. Save for Whiterun, countless, colored pawns indicated what part of Skyrim was under Imperial or Stormcloak control; a clear indicator of Jarl Balgruuf’s predicament only worsened by the appearance of this dragon. Ganir looked at the young guardsman that stood shaking in his boots next to Jarl Balgruuf. He must have been about seventeen or so and had yet to properly grow into his armor.  
   
When the Jarl saw the Dark Elf, he nodded in acknowledgement before he turned to the guard. “I’ll need you to tell us again what happened,” he said to the guard. The young man told them he’d just finished his rounds and was headed up the tower for a meal when he heard the odd, flapping sound of big, leathery wings. He had then heard the terrified shrieks of his comrades who were nearly swept from the top of the tower by a dragon who then proceeded to tear away at the stone in an attempt to catch the guards trapped within the building. After what seemed ages, it flew off and only he had the wits about him to run for the city to raise the alarm.  
   
“Thank you. You’ve done well. You may retreat to your barracks for the night.” Balgruuf gave  the young man an approving pat on the shoulder and then turned to Irileth. “Like wolves, there’s a big chance that this dragon might return. I’ll need you to gather some men, Irileth but remember that this isn’t a do or die mission. We need to find out what we’re up against and if we can kill it.” He then looked at Ganir, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about our deal, stranger, but given your skills and experience, I’d like to call upon you for a final time.”  
   
“I want two horses saddled then,” was all Ganir said. As much as he didn’t want to get involved with any of this, Cirilonde was just out the gates and for a dragon to appear so shortly after what happened to Helgen… He didn’t like it one bit.

 

While she waited for Ganir, Cirilonde had wandered around the camp and gotten herself something to eat. She found herself a nice spot near the city walls from where she could overlook the entire camp and the fields beyond. For the first time in a while, she felt like she could relax a little and enjoyed her meal while she watched the kids play or gather around the fire to listen to the music and tales of a bard. The grown-ups gathered around their fires talking business or gossip in hushed tones.  
   
This rather peaceful scene was disturbed when a lone guardsman came running from the fields and many heads turned to see as to what was going on. Cirilonde furrowed her brow as well because even though the guardsman’s face was hidden under his helmet, she could tell he wasn’t just in a hurry. He nearly stumbled over himself when he finally made it to his comrades at the gates and he leaned on his knees to catch his breath. Only a handful of merchants had noticed what Cirilonde had and she strained her ears if her keen hearing could pick up what was said. “Just let me in. Dragonsreach. Quick.”  
  
Once the guard had gone through a smaller door in the gate and disappeared out of sight, everyone who’d been in the close perimeter carried on about their business. But Cirilonde couldn’t help but find it strange and troubling that this guard had come running all by himself from the fields.  
   
She idly cast her gaze to where the man had come running from and she briefly shook her head in disbelief as to how no one could’ve seen this **(*1)**. She rubbed her eyes and squinted them after blinking repeatedly to make sure she wasn’t just seeing things.  
  
In the distance, she had seen the silhouette of what the locals told her to be the northern watch tower. But _surely…_ Rather than call for alarm to not cause panic, Cirilonde looked closer. _No, it must have been a trick of the mind…_  
  
Cirilonde’s heart leapt when the Whiterun city gates burst open and a group of men on horseback galloped outside. They were led by a fierce-looking and red-haired Dunmer woman clad in leather armor.  
_  
_ “You there!” she turned her horse so she could properly face the three guardsmen who’d been posted at the gate. “Gather everyone from the camp and get them into the city. _Now!_ ” After signaling for the horsemen to follow her, she dug the heels of her boots into her horse’s flanks and the group rushed down the road, forcing some people to dive out of their way.  
   
The canter of hooves made Cirilonde look up at her side to see Ganir sat on horseback, holding on to the reins of a dappled mare. The both of them, like everyone else, looked where the horsemen had gone and the locals were clearly unsettled to see smoke emitting from the watch tower.  
   
It was then that chaos broke out and everyone scurried to not only gather their belongings, but also their children and hurry to the safety of the walls. “It’s the damned Stormcloaks!”  
  
“Get out of my way!” one of the merchants yelled as he pushed everyone out of his way.  
  
“Don’t panic, we have everything under control!” The gaurds yelled.  
  
When Ganir handed Cirilonde the reins of the mare, she climbed onto its back so she wouldn’t get dragged away by the distraught crowd and followed him. “What’s going on?” she asked as he looked so troubled.  
  
“Dragon.” Was all he grit out and then galloped off in the direction Whiterun’s horsemen had.  
  
The horses’ hooves resounded like thunder on the cobbled road and they caught up with Irileth and her men some distance away from the North watch-tower. They halted when the Dark Elf woman raised her fist to urge them into a halt. “This doesn’t look good,” Irileth said.  
  
The dragon had clearly attempted to set fire to the tower, causing the stone to become searing hot and smolder, which caused the smoke. When this failed, it had torn away at the stone, leaving countless holes in the tower. It was a miracle it hadn’t collapsed yet.  
  
“What’s your call, Irileth?” one of the men asked hesitantly. Even the horses were unsettled and scraped their hooves over the stone, bristling.  
  
The Dunmer House Carl said nothing and glanced over her shoulder at Ganir and Cirilonde with narrowed eyes. _Everything went haywire the moment these outlanders showed up…_ “We best have a look to see if anyone’s still inside. Keep an eye on the sky, men and let’s go.”  
   
Only one of the men stayed back to hold onto the horses while Irileth and her men cautiously made their way over to the tower. Cirilonde laid her hand on Ganir’s shoulder and only then he broke his gaze from the tower. “Are you sure we should get involved with this?”  
_  
_ “Trust me, I didn’t want too.” Ganir replied in a hushed tone. “But I want to know whether this is the same dragon we saw in Helgen. Then we’ll be on our way as I have no intention of fighting it, should it show.”  
  
Cirilonde nodded and her eyes scanned the sky before locking onto the tower. She wanted to write the dragon’s appearance in Helgen off as a coincidence, but deep down, she knew better. But all the same, she didn’t know _what_ it meant aside from the fact it had bought the Stormcloaks and them the chance to escape. If this was the same dragon from Helgen, did it mean it was following them?  
_Don’t be ridiculous!_ She shook her head at the very thought. Either way, no matter how much she’d mull over this, in the end, they’d just have to cooperate for now and look into this with this ‘Irileth’ and her men as not to end up as scapegoats. And she too couldn’t help but be curious as after all, they were dealing with a creature thought to be either extinct or myth.  
  
“Let’s secure the horses and get going,” she finally said with a curt nod and dismounted. “But just so you know, I don’t like the look of _any_ of this.”  
**  
** “Neither do I.” Ganir assured her and he watched her secure the reins to a thick root that sprouted from under a rock.  
  
“It’s the house Carl!” The two elves’ heads shot up when they heard a cry come from the tower and two men stood huddled in the entry way of the guard tower, gesturing frantically for their comrades to keep their distance. “Stay back, Irileth! It could be back any minute! Didn’t you see?!” **  
  
** “What are you prattling on about?” Irileth snapped. “We’ve not-,”  
   
The Dunmer and her men spun around when a roar came from the skies near the mountains surrounding Bleak Falls Barrow. Cirilonde and Ganir both tensed and met eyes as they both were uncertain whether to be comforted or troubled by the fact that this dragon was not the same they’d seen in Helgen.  
Even with its wings spread wide, it wasn’t as large and its scales were green and brown. It swooped down over the tower and when it opened its maw, Irileth and her men dove into the building for cover. “ _YOL TOOR SHUL!”  
  
_ The guard who’d stayed behind was trampled by the horses he’d held on too as the beasts broke out in panic and ran off. Two of the men were too late to find cover in the tower and were burned alive by the flames that erupted from the dragon’s maw.  
  
Cirilonde jumped away with Ganir lest they got kicked by their horses as well and after casting a calming spell on them, she looked at Ganir. Whatever overwhelmed him, terrified and invigorated him as he couldn’t break his gaze away from the beast. His pupils had dilated and he felt this ‘pulse’ surge through him like the beating of a drum and the intensity of fire.  
  
He wasn’t sure, but it was as though the dragon was struck by the same sensation that had shot through him and it swerved mid-air and flew towards them. “Ganir-!” Cirilonde’s eyes went wide and she tried to pull him away when he drew his bow and knocked an arrow.  
  
He felt like he was shaking, but his hand was steady and even over the distance, he could feel the dragon’s eyes were on him. “GO, CIRI!” he yelled as he pulled the string back. Cirilonde didn’t get the time to choose and ran to take cover behind the rock formation near the tower. The dragon’s wings caused strong gusts of winds as it closed in but Ganir maintained his stance and aim. When the dragon opened his maw, he released the arrow and the dragon roared in rage as the arrow lodged itself into the dragon’s palate. It shook its head to get rid of the arrow that was stuck in its mouth and as a consequence, staggered in flight, nearly crashing into the tower. Though the arrowhead was still stuck, it managed to break part of the arrow and recover its trajectory by kicking off from the ground to shoot skyward again.  
   
Cirilonde dared peek over the stone from her hiding place when the beast flew away. She could hear Irileth swear profoundly in the Dunmer language as they all watched the dragon fly off and ready itself for another attack. “Stay out of its flightpath and ready your bows and arrows. Shoot when ready!” Irileth yelled at her men who lined up to do so.  
  
The dragon flew low over them and knocked them off their feet, smashing its tail down onto the ground. Luckily for Irileth and her men, they were not harmed yet, but Cirilonde and Ganir shook their heads in disbelief when the dragon…laughed? “Prem, joor! Dinok bo fah hi!”  
  
It flashed before Ganir’s eyes as he thought of the dragon in Helgen and the powerful Draugr they’d faced in Bleak Falls Barrow and it all fell into place when he realized that the dragon wasn’t just simply snarling and  roaring but that was _speaking._  
  
“Ganir, we need to get out of here!” Cirilonde grabbed hold of the Dark Elf’s arm in an attempt to shake him out of whatever daze had grabbed hold of him. “It’s not safe here.”  
  
“Get to the higher ground to get a better aim!” One of the guardsmen had climbed on the rubble but it was the last mistake he and the other man who joined him, made. They had hoped to get a clear shot of the dragon that was headed towards them, but it made a sudden, swift turn when they released their arrows and the dragon flew around the tower. The Dragon was now behind them and he picked one of the men up with his maw and swallowed him alive and he crushed the other under the sheer might of his spiked tail.

Irileth felt her body go rigid when the horrible realization dawned on her that though they could definitely harm this dragon, their hands were tied as long as it was airborne. So what was this damn fool thinking, standing out there in the open with that High Elf, with a bow and arrow at the ready?!  
  
“Just _run_ Ciri!” the Dark Elf snapped at her and he pushed her away. “I’ll draw its attention. Just _go!_ ”  
   
_“This isn’t a do or die mission, Irileth.”_ Balgruuf’s words rang clear in Irileth’s ears and she looked at the dragon that spread its wings to land on top of the tower. She didn’t trust either of these strangers, but she had a duty as House Carl to protect the people of Whiterun whether they lived there or not.  
  
The ground shook when the beast landed on the tower and it nearly crumbled under the weight and pressure of the impact. “Ag, fahlil!” the beast snarled as it dug its talons into the stone and the dragon bared its huge teeth to spit fire at Irileth. “ _YOL!_ ”  
  
Irileth bolted from her hiding place and she felt the heat of the flames scorch the earth she’d stood seconds ago. She grabbed hold of Cirilonde and tried to drag her along. “Come on, we need to get out of here, girl!”  


When the dragon turned its attention to the two elven women, Ganir released an arrow to get the dragon’s attention again but was unsuccessful as the arrow ricocheted off the scales. The beast leapt and gave chase when the two women attempted to run for safety.  
   
When the dragon cast its huge shadow over them, Irileth shot a glance over her shoulder and she threw both herself and Cirilonde to the ground. “Get down!” The dragon’s tail spikes swung over them by just and the sheer might of the gale from the dragon’s wings kept them pressed to the ground.  
   
Cirilonde and Irileth tried to scramble to their feet but froze when the ground shook and the dragon landed in front of them. Cirilonde’s eyes locked on to the golden-brown eyes of the dragon who slammed its wing talons into the earth as it inched closer. “Hi fen wahl flogah kipraan, fahliil,” it snarled.  
   
The dragon pulled its head back to lash out but Irileth shot to her feet with her shield at the ready and she rammed it against the dragon’s nose. She had then planned to attack with her sword but the impact of the dragon’s snout against her shield didn’t just shatter the shield, but also the bones in her right arm. She cried out in both anger and anguish and was caught by Cirilonde who stood frozen in fear.  
  
The dragon shook its head to rid its maw and nostrils of the splinters and it was then that Ganir decided it was now or never. He released the arrow he’d readied and the arrow’s head hit the mark, obliterating the dragon’s left eye. The dragon reared on its hind legs and its deafening roar was one of pain and rage as it flailed about. When some of the worst pain subsided and it was aware of what had happened, it turned to lock onto the culprit that bought the other two elves the time to get away. Though Ganir was most relieved he’d helped Cirilonde and Irileth escape, he swallowed when he now stood face to face with a furious dragon. _I didn’t think this through…  
_  
The beast had pulled its leathery lips up into a snarl, its rage fueled by the painful, ghastly wound it had sustained by Ganir’s hand. The broken arrow was still stuck in the eye-socket and blood poured from the wound, staining the scales and the ground red in a matter of seconds. Ganir wasn’t sure what this strange ‘shiver’ was that ran down his spine when his red eyes looked into the dragon’s remaining one.  
  
Ganir shrieked when the dragon lunged at him without warning and the Dark Elf was forced to run for his life.  
  
“Duraal, fahliil! Zu’u fen lost hin klov!” One wouldn’t think it given his size, but the dragon was fast and dug its wing talons into the ground as it gave chase. Thankfully for Ganir, he himself was swift and nimble on his feet. He ducked under the roots of an uprooted tree and then climbed on top of the debris that had fallen directly from the top of the tower. “This game of yours ends now, _joorre_!”  
  
Ganir had no time to be baffled by the dragon’s ability for the common speech as the dragon swung his tail overhead to hit him from the side but struck the tower instead when the Dark Elf ducked. Ganir covered his head as the stone was sent flying everywhere and he hoped none of it would hit him. He could hear Cirilonde shriek in the distance but Irileth and her men held the High Elf back.

When he looked up, a shudder ran down his spine in spite of the dragon’s hot breath brushing past his ears. The Dark Elf and dragon’s faces were mere inches apart and any sudden moves would no doubt mean his end…So why was the dragon not doing anything? His whole body tensed when the tower creaked menacingly. It was about to collapse!

A deep, odd rumble, much like a chuckle, emitted from the dragon’s throat as it caught the Dark Elf’s quizzical expression. “I’m not proud I need to stoop to your… _guttural_ language, but you’ve caused me enough faaz that I insist you know my name before I crush your bones,” the dragon growled and spread its wings in a mocking bow. “But it has been a long time since I, Mirmulnir, had the pleasure of the hunt.”

“But you’ve not caught me yet, have you?” Ganir bluffed against his better judgement, but he _had_ to try.  
  
Mirmulnir’s nostrils flared up in anger, “ _YOL!”_ and the dragon lunged forward with its jaws wide open to burn the Dark Elf to a crisp before swallowing him whole. But Ganir scrambled and made a nasty fall when he rolled off the edge of the little platform the debris had formed. Because he was missing an eye and the flames were so bright, Mirmulnir did not see his ‘prey’ was no longer there and it was too late for him to turn or back away so he rammed the tower with the full force of his weight.  
   
The last thing that Mirmulnir saw, was the tower’s massive boulders that came crashing down on him and a deafening silence fell over the field until Cirilonde cried out for Ganir. He’d thought himself dead at first as well until he heard her voice and he swept the dirt, dust and rubble off of him. He had to admit it to himself that he hadn’t exactly expected to emerge from this unscathed, but luckily for him when he made his unfortunate fall, he found a crevice he could huddle into to find shelter from the flame and debris.  
  
Sore and shaking in his boots he emerged from the rubble, but found that he was unharmed otherwise. “Ganir!”  
  
Cirilonde had broken away from Irileth and the guardsmen and though she wanted nothing more than go to him, she was too terrified of getting any closer as the dragon lay unmoving under the debris. Both the elves stared at it, expecting it to break free any second. “Is…Is it dead?” she finally dared ask.

Ganir stared at the dragon as he expected this dragon, Mirmulnir, to move any second, but…had he really…? Out of all the men in total, of which most had perished…had he been the one too?  
Cirilonde rushed over and flung her arms around his neck, refusing to let go before she finally pulled back. “You _idiot!_ Just what were you thinking?! But you did it and-! Are you all right?”  
  
He was grateful for her concern, but he pulled her behind him and backed away fast when the dragon began to…smolder?  
  
“By the Eight!” Irileth and Whiterun’s men had dared to inch closer as well and one of the men had seen it as well. Smoke began to emit from the dragon’s scales and held a glow as though it was searing, white-hot steel.  
  
“Ciri, get down!” Ganir shoved Cirilonde aside but within that fraction of a second where time seemed to slow, the terrifying sensation hit him he’d known deep down already there had been no need to do such a thing. Mirmulnir’s body initially seemed to burst into flames but instead, formed a whirling cyclone of energy that charged straight at the Dark Elf. It was so fast that even if he’d tried he couldn’t dodge or outrun it but when it hit him there was no pain and this ‘energy’ became a part of him.  
   
Cirilonde stood frozen and with her green eyes wide in disbelief. _Just how…and what?_ She reached her hand out to the Dark Elf whereas Irileth and the men stared dumbfounded at Ganir who also looked deeply troubled as he too tried to process what had just happened.  
  
“Dragonborn…” One of the guards gasped. “You are Dragonborn!”  
  
“What are you flapping your gums on about, fool?” Irileth still cradled her broken arm and though she damn well knew what she’d just seen, she didn’t want to believe it because…how could anyone?! This outlander, this outsider had just done… what exactly to this dragon? And now they were calling him ‘Dragonborn’? _It’s the pain…It’s just the pain…_ She tried to reason.  
   
The guard made to explain, but was interrupted by a voice unlike any of them had ever heard before. It was so powerful it caused a ripple to flow through the sky, distorting the clouds and sounded like thunder. “DOOOV-AH-KIIIN!”  
   
“Did you hear that? Did you _hear_ that?!” Whiterun’s men exclaimed to one another, ecstatic and also finding this hard to believe.  
  
“Those were _definitely_ the Greybeards,” one of the men said decidedly. “They’re summoning you to High Hrothgar.”  
  
“I’m not being summoned anywhere,” Ganir said and he grabbed Cirilonde by the arm with the intention to leave.  
  
“Ganir, what are you-?!”  
  
“Just where do you think you’re going?” Irileth growled. “We’re not done. Explain yourself, stranger. The Jarl-,”  
  
“I did my job so I’m not about to explain anything.” Cirilonde didn’t want to stay either as whatever this meant, it didn’t seem to be good.  
  
“Halt!”  
  
Ganir leapt on the back of his horse with ease and galloped off at full speed, causing Cirilonde to panic, but after pulling herself free from a guard’s grasp, she too dug the heels of her boots in her horse’s flanks and chased after the Dark Elf.  
  
_Just what in the-?!_ The High Elf’s mind reeled to comprehend what any of this meant and though her rationality would often kick in first, this had been so mind-blowing, it even got the better of her and all she wanted was to get out of here and catch up with Ganir. Her hair whipped her in the face and the muscles in her legs and sides stung as she tried to stay in the saddle and it took her considerable effort, but finally she caught up with the Dark Elf.  
  
“Just _wait_!” she exclaimed, getting angry when he wouldn’t slow down. “Auri-El, Ganir, they’re _not_ chasing us!”

But it wasn’t until a little bit further that he finally slowed down, out of breath and both him and his horse bathed in sweat. The surrounding landscape had changed from the rolling, grassy hills to the snow-covered, dirt-road sided by towering pine-trees. He wanted to rationalize why he’d run so suddenly but not only had he been terrified, he thought he’d gone mad and in this ‘daze’, he’d left Cirilonde behind. He felt awful and didn’t dare look at her.  
  
“Ganir…Just…” Cirilonde’s horse didn’t protest when she leaned on its neck for support to catch her breath and she held on to her sides as they stung. “Just what was all that about? What happened? Are you all right?”  
   
Only when she put her hand on his arm, did he look up. “I don’t know. I’m still trying to figure out myself as well, but…but yeah, I think I’m all right.”  
   
“Don’t you _ever_ run off on me like that again. We’ve been through so much already. You’re my friend!” He barely felt her squeeze his hand because of the armor he wore but he appreciated it. “Right?”  
  
“Of course you are. I was just…scared, I guess?” He gave an embarrassed chuckle, not believing he’d just admitted such a thing and he ran a hand through his disheveled, dark hair. “But how exactly do you expect me to …make sense of _that_?! Just what the _hell_ happened?!”  
   
“If I knew, I would…” she tried to comfort him. “Trust me, I most likely would’ve panicked as well. I mean, that was _not_ the same dragon as from Helgen and I don’t like it one bit how we seem to be in the middle of it all.”  
  
“Not to forget about that voice…” Ganir mused. “And what was it the Nord called me? Dragonborn? I mean, this has just got to be coincidence, right? I mean, come on, no one’s ever seen a dragon die before and he clearly had it in for me.”  
   
“I don’t know…” Cirilonde pondered. “I’d have to look into it when I make it to the College…if that’s what you want…and still want.”  
   
Ganir couldn’t help but smile because as distressing as the past few days alone had been, he found comfort in her company. She was gentle, considerate and quite resilient for an elven woman who seemingly possessed no real combat prowess. And here she was, in Skyrim. “I don’t think there’s a better place than the College of Winterhold to find answers …” he then cast a quick glance over his shoulders. “Not to mention, to lay low for a while.”  
   
“I agree,” Cirilonde nodded. “And the College’s Arcaneum holds such a vast collection of knowledge, I would be surprised if they wouldn’t have any information on this… ‘matter’. And you’re right, really, the Winterhold is a rather remote area.”  
  
“Isn’t it one of the biggest cities of Skyrim?” Ganir raised a brow as he was certain of that fact.  
  
“Not anymore.” Cirilonde shook her head and told him about the books she’d read while still at home. One of them told how the majority of Winterhold had been ‘swallowed’ by the Sea of Ghosts due to some yet, unexplained cause whereas others pinpointed a ‘great, terrible storm’ to be the culprit. Either way, this event that took place some two centuries ago was referred to as ‘The Great Collapse’ and had left Winterhold as but a shell of its former self.  
   
Eager for distraction, aching and tired, Ganir asked all the questions he could think of for Cirilonde to answer. Not that she minded, it helped her pay less heed to the increasing cold as they headed further up North East of the country and it even began to snow once they got near Windhelm. It grew increasingly difficult to guide the horses through the thick layer of snow and they had to take shelter for a few hours when the wind disoriented them too much for them to be able to navigate the right way properly.  
  
Even though she was tired and aching herself for some rest, at the same time Cirilonde knew she couldn’t sleep. The adrenaline hadn’t left her body yet and though she knew it was a ridiculous thought, she also feared they were still being followed.  
  
But finally at long last, after a long night and a half of riding, they saw what remained of Winterhold’s enormous walls. It was a sight that even saddened Ganir as he could clearly tell this had once been a great, bustling city and now not even half of it stood standing. It literally looked as though the sea had grown a maw with teeth and took a bite out of the city. Though all of it was covered in snow, he could see the ruins of old buildings Winterhold’s villagers either hadn’t the heart or resources to recover or rebuild…or it was simply too dangerous.  
  
But all of this former grandeur fell in the shadow of a most impressive sight that even took Ganir's breath away. The College of Winterhold was built on top of a precarious rock formation, surrounded by the sea and the beach far below. Though they weren’t sure what it was, or where it came from, blue beams of light shot up towards the sky from what seemed to be either braziers are fonts. That, combined with the dark clouds forming in the background and how the windows shimmered, the College looked ominous, intimidating but incredible.  
   
The odd, elven pair rode their horses down the main road of the village, trying to ignore the hard glares of the local guardsmen as they approached the stone arch-way and bridge that led to the College. Here, they dismounted to greet the blonde, Altmer female that stood waiting in the archway to the bridge that led to the College. The two statues that were part of the archway sternly peered down at the two of them.    
  
The High Elf woman was clad in most unusual attire for what Cirilonde associated with mages. She was used to simple or elaborate robes like she herself would wear. But this woman was clad in thick, woolen pants and a long, red and embroidered tunic with a yellow sash. Over that, she wore a dark-brown overcoat and a pair of thick, fur-lined boots. . “Ah, the last arrival of the new lot of students,” she said to Cirilonde.  
  
Though she was postured and graceful, she seemed far more friendly than most Altmer women Cirilonde knew back in Alinor. They always had a certain patronizing demeanor and tone to their voice.  
  
“I am Faralda,” the woman and Cirilonde shook hands. “I’m your instructor for the school of Destruction. You must be Cirilonde.” Faralda gave Cirilonde an encouraging smile before she then turned her attention to Ganir, inspecting him from head to toe. She certainly must be wondering what an armor-clad, menacing Dark Elf such as himself would be doing all the way out here. “We weren’t expecting you, however, Sir…?”  
  
“Ganir Mathendis.” Ganir replied and shook hands with her. “I’m aware my arrival was not announced, sera, but if it’s not too late or an issue, I would like to enroll with your College.”  
   
Faralda bit on the inside of her cheek as she mulled this over. Granted, Skyrim wasn’t a place to travel across lightly. If the wildlife didn’t prove an issue, the civil war had certainly provided bandits the chance to roam freely and cause trouble. But there was something about this Dark Elf…especially since he travelled with an Altmer noble-woman…She shook her head, “It’s certainly unconventional for us to accept last-minute enrollments, but it is not my choice to make. You will have to convince our Master Wizard, Mirabelle Ervine to see if she’s willing to make an exception.”  
  
Cirilonde glanced up at Ganir. That certainly didn’t sound promising or encouraging, but he gave her an assuring wink and his lips curled into that devilish smirk once again once Faralda had turned around to gesture at the bridge. “I’ll take you across, but mind your step. The last storm has caused quite some damage and it’s very slippery.”  
   
She hadn’t been joking or exaggerating. Though the bridge wasn’t about to collapse any time soon, the elements had torn away at the bridge, leaving large gaps here and there where wooden boards had been placed over as a temporary replacement. Cirilonde felt her stomach churn when she accidentally peered down and saw that if one were to fall, they would certainly meet a cruel demise on the jagged rocks on the beach far below. And it didn’t help that whenever the wind blew, it felt as though the bridge was moving. All in all, Cirilonde was glad when they made their way across.  
   
They stood in front of the steel, barred gate with the arcane eye embedded into the ironwork that led to the College’s rotund courtyard. It was overlooked by the statue of a mage she knew to be Shalidor; the College’s founder. A blue light emanated from a large font in the center of the courtyard, in front of the statue, that would illuminate the grounds at night.  
   
Along the walls was a walkway supported by pillars with doorways leading to what they later would learn were the junior dorms (the Hall of Attainment) and the senior dorms (Hall of Countenance) and a variety of laboratories and classrooms. The entrance to the College, the Hall of Elements, was behind large doors behind the statue.  
  
But the gate didn’t open, much to Faralda’s amusement and she held out her hand to Cirilonde. “May I have your ring, please?” she asked.  
  
“Oh, yes, of course.” Cirilonde reached into her pouch and produced a simple, silver ring which she then handed to Faralda.  
  
“It may seem extensive, but given the strenuous relations between the locals of Winterhold and the general dislike Nords have for magic, we’ve taken some precautions to ensure no one can just walk in here,” Faralda explained after muttering an incantation. Both the ring and gate briefly lit up in and after handing the  ring back to Cirilonde, the gates finally opened. But both Ganir and Cirilonde wondered why they would take such precautions. “You will be receiving such a ring as well, should you manage to convince Mirabelle,” Faralda said to Ganir as she led them onto the College grounds. “But-,”  
   
“I believe I made myself rather clear, Ancano.” The conversation was taking place behind the statue and Cirilonde and Ganir exchanged glances when Faralda motioned for them to stay put a moment.    
  
_Ancano…_ Cirilonde swallowed. _A High Elven name…_  
  
“Yes, of course.” This was no doubt Ancano and the tone of his voice was disdainful, haughty and smooth. She could imagine him sneering as he spoke. “I’m simply trying to understand the reasoning behind the decision.”  
  
“You may be used to the Empire bowing to your every whim, but I’m afraid the Thalmor receive _no_ such treatment here. You would do well to remember that you are a guest at the College at the pleasure of the Arch-Mage.” This woman was no doubt glaring daggers at this ‘Ancano’ as they stood face to face behind that statue. Cirilonde swallowed because in her experience, this couldn’t end well. “I hope you appreciate the opportunity.”

“But of course, Mirabelle.” The three eaves-dropping elves collectively seemed a bit relieved when nothing bad happened and on Faralda’s signal, they approached. But when they rounded around the statue, Cirilonde froze when her worst fears were confirmed and she gripped Ganir by the wrist.  
   
Ancano was a Thalmor agent.  
  
He was clad in the typical, smooth black and leather robes with golden embroidery. Like most High Elven men, he was taller and towered over Mirabelle; an elderly, short Breton woman. His shoulder-length white hair was brushed back and his long chin, cheekbones and hooked nose were rather prominent features of his face. He ceased to scowl at the woman and his dark, golden eyes narrowed at Faralda and the two elves he’d never seen here before. “Yes, of course. The Arch-Mage has my thanks, Mirabelle.”  
  
“Now, if you don’t mind, Ancano, I have some matters to attend too.” Mirabelle and he glared at one another.  
  
Ancano shot another glance at the new arrivals before he turned and pulled the hood of his robe back over his head. His robes billowed as he walked off and entered one of the quarters.  
   
“What was his problem this time?” Faralda asked once she was certain Ancano was out of earshot but Mirabelle shot her a sharp look. The High Elf took the hint and cleared her throat, “Cirilonde here has just arrived, the last of the new apprentices. And this is Ganir Mathendis, who would like to enroll as well.”  
   
It was clear that Mirabelle shared Faralda’s apprehension as she looked at Ganir whose appearance was anything but ‘scholarly’. It was subtle, but when Mirabelle’s eyes met Ganir’s, the Breton felt unable to tear her gaze away from his and a most pleasant warmth filled her. **(*2)**. She shook her head and shot the Dark Elf a sharp look, crossing her arms over her chest. “And by what proficiency ought we permit for you to enroll?”  
  
Ganir bared his teeth in what seemed a charming grin, but he was also a bit unnerved now. _This normally always works…  
  
_ Mirabelle’s eyes shot to Cirilonde, who looked rather confused as to what had just happened. The Breton wondered what a young woman such as her would want to do with an intimidating man such as this Dark Elf. “Illusion and Alchemy,” Ganir replied as though nothing had happened.  
   
“Very well then. What are the results if I combine distilled Juniper Berries with boiled Namira’s rot and ground, Nordic Barnacles?”  
  
“I am more familiar with the alchemical components and applications of ingredients from Cyrodiil and Morrowind,” Ganir said. “You will have to forgive me, but of course all the same, it would explain why I would be here.”  
   
This certainly piqued everyone’s interest. When Red Mountain erupted, Morrowind’s province of Vvardenfell was practically swept off the charts and with the Argonians (the lizard-folk from Black Marsh) retaliating after years of enslavement by the Dark Elves, a lot of the Dunmer had perished and so a lot of knowledge on their magical knowledge and Morrowind’s flora and fauna was lost. Mirabelle, however, wasn’t too convinced just yet by this bold claim. “If you say so. What could I do with Green Lichen and Willow Anther?” she asked.  
  
“A common potion to cure most diseases.” Ganir replied with a smug and satisfied expression. _Too simple._  
   
But Mirabelle chalked it up to sheer, dumb luck and pressed on. “And what of crushed emeralds with raisin?”  
  
“If you prepare it right, the emerald could dissolve into a Trama Root tea. It enhances the healing process, dissolves the emerald dust better and the raisin adds an…interesting, bitter taste, to say the least.”  
  
Mirabelle’s face lit up and she extended her hand to Ganir. “Most impressive, Ganir Mathendis. I am Master Wizard Mirabelle Ervine. Welcome to the College of Winterhold, the both of you.”  
   
To achieve the rank of Master Wizard, one certainly had to possess and display prowess and knowledge of the magical arts. And from what Cirilonde could guess, Mirabelle had to be at least fifty years old, but as impressive as this feat was her appearance was less so. Mirabelle’s attire was much like Faralda’s except bore the blue and silver colors and her tunic’s sash was black. She had a round face, dark brown eyes and her greying, brown hair was bound into a bun.  
   
“If you follow me, I can show you around before I take you to your dorms.” Mirabelle led them to the Hall of Elements, which was illuminated by the same, big font in the center of the Hall of Elements and countless torches along the walls crackled with a blue flame. Their footsteps echoed through the room, which was currently occupied by senior mages who practiced their conjuration and other spells which explained the odd flashes of light they had seen earlier from the outside.  
“Most of our seminars are hosted here in the Hall of Elements, however, is also a more spacious area for our students to practice their spells,” Mirabelle explained. Cirilonde’s eyes went wide as she watched a young man conjure a familiar while two others practiced their destruction spells.  
  
“Why do you conduct your practices inside?” Cirilonde asked. “Does it have to do with the locals?”  
   
Mirabelle nodded. “And I highly recommend that were you to your skills, you either conduct them here or in the laboratories and classrooms we have available, lest we upset the locals. Let’s head to the Forum, shall we?” The Forum was a large room where the walls were decorated with paintings and tapestries. Students were sat at tables, eating, reading books and talking to one another so only a few noted the arrival of the Master Wizard and the two, new apprentices. And so they made their way around the College where Mirabelle explained what purpose every room served and where they were or weren’t permitted and what was or wasn’t allowed to do in what rooms.  
  
In complete contrast to Cirilonde, Ganir looked exceptionally bored after seeing some of the facilities where as Cirilonde couldn’t contain her excitement when they made their way to the Arcaneum.  
The Arcaneum was in one of the towers of the College and as she looked up, Cirilonde grew dizzy as she looked up and saw nothing but books line the bookshelves and bookcases. But against her expectations, the Arcaneum wasn’t tended too by some dusty-looking, beardy old fellow, but a grumpy-looking, old Orc named Urag gro-Shub. What little remained of his grey hair was bound back into a ponytail but he watched everyone like a hawk.  
   
“Just to make sure that this is clear,” Urag said to Cirilonde after she politely tried to introduce herself. “This is _my_ own little plain of Oblivion. If I see you make a mess of things and not treat these books with the respect they deserve, I will call upon a pair of angry atronachs to help remind you…”  
  
Ganir could barely stifle his laughter as Cirilonde visibly paled and then nervously assured him that she would treat his books well.  
  
“Yes, so that was Urag…” Mirabelle cleared her throat as they left the Arcaneum and were headed back outside to the Courtyard again. “He takes his work very…seriously. Now, over there, you can see the door to the Hall of Countenance which is off-limits to the both of you until you have been promoted to the rank of Scholar. Until then, you will be staying here in the Hall of Attainment.” Both these dorms were in the smaller towers of the College. The rooms were bare and only had a desk, washing basin, desk and wardrobe, all of it lit again by the same, blue magical light emanating from the font in the center.  
  
Mirabelle turned to Ganir, startling him as she’d made such a sudden turn and had said very little to him throughout the course of the tour. “I will make sure that you will be assigned some proper attire like your friend here. The furnishings are College property but you are, of course, free to make yourself at home and study here. Should you have any questions, I’m sure that if I am not available to you, your fellow students will be happy to help you out. Will you manage?”  
  
Cirilonde gave Ganir a subtle kick when the Breton turned to them again and she nearly caught sight of him mimicking her. “We will be fine, Master Wizard. I thank you for your time,” Cirilonde said courteously with a smile. “I would hate to take up more of it.”  
   
“Yes, thank you.” Ganir grumbled as he rubbed his sore shin.  
  
Mirabelle frowned, wondering what was wrong with the Dark Elf but shrugged it off, smiling back at the High Elf. “Very well. I will see you at dinner. Take your time to get comfortable and acquainted with your fellow apprentices. The schedules for all classes will be handed out t dinner.”

“What was that for?!” Ganir exclaimed with a hiss once the Master Wizard had left the Hall of Attainment. She hadn’t _really_ hurt him because his boots were made out of thick leather. “Was that really necessary? That woman just kept droning on and on and on!”

“Unless you want to break a world record for getting expelled.” Cirilonde tried to look and sound stern but her lips curled into a smile she couldn’t suppress. It had been funny.  
  
“If they knew _why_ and _how_ we really got here…” Ganir ran his fingers through his hair and sighed, shaking his head while his fingers toyed with his earring. It was only as if then he took note of their appearance, or more specifically, Cirilonde’s. “You should get changed. You look like you lost arm-wrestling a mudcrab.”  
  
Cirilonde shot him a look and couldn’t help herself, “I don’t recall mudcrabs being able to fly or breathe fire.”  
   
“Shh!” Ganir hissed.  
  
“Hey, you must be the last of the new lot.” Cirilonde and Ganir’s eyes both shot to the Dunmer female who had peeked out of her room. She was pretty, with thick, dark-brown hair and big, red eyes that looked as friendly as her smile. “I’m Brelyna Maryon. Yes. House Telvanni.”

Her smile grew wider and she leaned particularly close to Ganir as she shook hands with him. For the first time since they’d met, he looked uncomfortable and stepped back and shot Cirilonde a glare. “He’s a tad moody because he had a long trip.” The Dark Elf’s indignant expression was priceless as both the women giggled. “This is Ganir. I’m Cirilonde.”  
   
“It’s so lovely to meet the both of you. You must’ve come a long way, but all the better to be far away from the family.” Brelyna said. “This place is amazing and there’s so much time to yourself and all these new people to meet…”  
  
“Which I will be doing later, if you don’t mind,” Ganir said. Cirilonde looked at him, worried. From the moment they’d met, the Dark Elf had looked famished and exhausted but now it really showed and it was as if only now he wanted to give in to his exhaustion.  
  
“It’s fine. Get some rest,” she said to him and without another word, he turned and retreated into his room. She gave Brelyna an apologetic smile. “It really was a rough trip. Don’t take it personal.”  
  
Brelyna waved her hand in dismissal with a grin. “I know my sort’s men. A nap and some sujamma will fix him right up. Have you been to the forum yet? Most of the others are there now, so why don’t you come along so I can introduce you? It’s almost dinner time anyway.”  
  
Cirilonde hesitated and glanced at Ganir’s room. “Yes, of course, but let me change first. First impressions and all.”  
  
While Brelyna waited outside her room, Cirilonde took her time to catch her breath and as much as she wanted to think about everything that had happened and maybe even go to bed, she also wanted to make a good, first impression. She held Gerdur’s dress out in front of her and then looked at her robes. Her clothes were a right mess but thankfully the blood stains didn’t stand out as much as the caked mud did … or the scorched ends of her sleeves.  
  
_And they actually let us on the College grounds?!_ After washing up, she put on the robes that had been laid out on her bed and joined Brelyna who led her to the Forum where everyone had gathered for dinner.  
   
Few heads turned like earlier as many were still too engrossed with their meals, studies and conversation but upon seeing Brelyna, a few people clad in the same robes like Cirilonde and Brelyna waved.  
  
“Hey everyone. I’d like all of you to meet Cirilonde,” Brelyna said once they’d made their way over to the table. A few gave a wave and said their names before returning to their meals and conversations. Cirilonde took the seat Brelyna had pulled out for her before she took a seat herself.  
  
“My name is Onmund,” the young, Nord man shook hands with her. He had blond hair, blue eyes and a kind, handsome face.  
  
“J’Zhargo.” The Khajiit’s teeth showed when he grinned. He immediately reminded Cirilonde of Ri’Saad. Most of J’Zhargo’s face went hidden under his hood, but she could tell his fur was brown and black and his eyes sparkled with both intelligence and mischief. “It is good to meet you.”  
   
“So, this is it?” Onmund asked. “We’re the only real newcomers?” Onmund looked both surprised and confused. “Because I’ve been asking around and, well, most people have either been here for a year or are only dropping by every once a while if they _must._ ”  
   
“Well, aside from Faralda telling us, you should know that Nords aren’t fond of magic.” The Dark Elf rolled her eyes. “Because it’s so much more practical and civilized to crush someone’s skull with a big, heavy and clumsy hammer or axe.”  
   
“True, but still…”  
  
“But there’s five of us in total that are new,” Brelyna said as if it was of any comfort. “It’s just that the fifth one is currently in his dorm; Ganir, a Dark Elf like me.”  
  
“He’ll probably join us later,” Cirilonde assured them nervously, hoping they wouldn’t think it was weird. “We had a pretty rough and long trip.”  
  
“Well, more food for us, then, I suppose.” Onmund shrugged and the four of them walked over to the large, long table where a buffet was laid out for them so they could scoop up whatever and how much ever they wanted to eat. Though it wasn’t as elaborate as what she was familiar with back home or at the Arcane University, it wasn’t too strange as Winterhold’s College was so remote and the climate didn’t really allow for any of the luxurious food she was used too. In spite of that, however, the varieties of stews, porridges and soups looked and smelled most delicious and so she made do with what seemed most appealing to her.

They all sat down together to eat their meals and Cirilonde could almost forget about the hectic, past few days as she talked with Onmund, J’Zhargo and Brelyna. Onmund was a simple farmer’s son and though his family didn’t really like any of it, he pushed through and finally enrolled at the College of Winterhold as he was the first and only in his family to show signs of an aptitude for magic.  
  
In Morrowind, there were a variety of Great Houses prominent families associated themselves with and Brelyna’s family was one of them. Though she could’ve stayed at home and learned from the greatest masters, she had managed to convince her parents to travel to the College of Winterhold, for which she was most thankful. “The only downside is that while they won’t be nagging my ears until they’re round about my progress every day, they will be writing. But at least I get a choice when to respond, right?”  
  
And finally, there was J’Zargo, who almost typically in Cirilonde’s eyes, avoided discussing most of his background. “Skyrim was not J’Zargo’s first choice, but Winterhold is removed from politics, dedicated to study. This is the place for J’Zargo to become great and he will have much to prove as Khajiit are not known as mages.”  
  
_But they are as thieves…_ Cirilonde couldn’t help herself and kept her hand on her pouch. But she found that she was enjoying herself as the atmosphere was most pleasant and the people seemed nice. Once she’d eaten her fill, however, she began to ache for a bed to sleep in. “It was all very nice to meet you, but I’ll have to excuse myself,” she said as she got up. “I’ve really had a long trip so I’ll be retreating for the night.”  
  
Though she wasn’t very certain of where to go, she finally managed to find her way to the Hall of Attainment again and knocked on the door to Ganir’s room, which was next to her own.  
   
“Ganir?” she listened closely at the door. “Do you have a moment?”  
  
She had to suppress a laugh as the Dark Elf’s hair was a mess. “Sorry about that. Fell asleep.” He muttered his apologies. He did look a lot better than he did earlier. “What is it?”  
   
“Not much…” She furrowed her brow at the stains on his tunic. _Wine?_ “Did someone come and bring you your robes?”  
   
“Oh yes, someone came knocking earlier.” Ganir said and as he let her in, he kicked something under his bed and then held up the robes. “Is everything okay that you came, or?”  
  
“I’m fine…I think,” she said, not entirely sure of herself. “Just very tired, that’s all. But, what do you think of this place? Will we be safe?”  
  
“The people seem all right.” Ganir mused. “But as little as I’ve seen of this place, I’ve seen even less people.”  
   
“I know, but we know why. You, me, Onmund, Brelyna and J’Zargo are the only new people.” Cirilonde said.  
   
“A Khajiit mage?” Ganir snorted. “Well…mind your belongings then. N’chow s’wits. But how about you. Are you feeling well? Safe?”  
  
“I _really_ don’t know.” Cirilonde admitted. “I mean, even all the way out here there’s a Thalmor here! But…I’ve not seen him since we arrived.”  
   
“Well, if it’s any reassurance, keep in mind what Mirabelle said to him. That bat would be a fool to try anything,” Ganir assured him. “So he’s probably keeping a low profile and is probably slithering around somewhere.”  
   
Initially, the Dark Elf was taken aback, but he smiled and returned the embrace when Cirilonde put her arms around him. “Thank you for everything, Ganir. I wouldn’t have made it here without you.”  
  
Though she couldn’t see, his gaze softened. “You’re welcome. You should get some rest, however.”  
  
"I will," Cirilonde smiled and she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "But I just wanted to check in on you quick. So, good night, I guess." And just like that, she turned and went to  her room where it wasn't long before she fell into a deep sleep.  
  
  


 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, rewriting this chapter (18-04-2016) was NO small feat, or easy, for that matter. In the original, Ganir literally killed Mirmulnir, but instead, I changed a lot of things around not only to make things more credible, but also improve the dialogue and flow of the story and that way, better present the character and their personalities.  
> I really hope I pulled it off right, so should you be the one to re-read this, or read this the first time, please let me know what you think!
> 
> Prem, joor. Dinok bo fah hi!: Patience, mortal. Death comes for you!  
> Hi fen wahl flogah kipraan, fahliil! : You will make a fine meal, elves!  
> Duraal fahliil. Zu'u fen lost hin klov!: Cursed Elf, I will have your head!
> 
> (*1): Though I do not know if this applies to Elder Scrolls lore, elves are known to have a more keen sense of sight and hearing. But if it is not ‘registered’ in some way, perhaps it explains Cirilonde’s confusion as to why she’s the only one seeing it, given that Whiterun’s occupation mainly consists of Nords and Bretons (humanoid, non-elven races), save for Irileth.
> 
> (*2) Vampire charm. Sucks for Ganir that Mirabelle’s a very strong-minded woman.  
> And on a small side not of sorts, wouldn’t you be pissed if you knew someone was trying to ‘charm’ you with a spell?


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “One would wonder what one of your sort is doing here if they so easily and callously swing their iron about,” he casually observed in a silken tone. “Unless of course, you are not who you claim to be and you are either hiding something or from something…”
> 
> “I could say the same of you sneaking up on me, fetcher.” Ganir growled. The two elves stared each other down and though the Thalmor’s eyes dared him to try something, Ganir pulled his dagger away. “So what are you insinuating?”
> 
> (Updated as of 20-04-2016)

**The Unlikely Companions – Chapter 5** ****  
  
When Cirilonde woke the next morning, she found that Ganir was already up and awake and she met up with him at the Forum. She hadn’t even recognized him at first as she was so used to see him clad in his armor and armed to the teeth. Knowing him, however, she was convinced he had his daggers hidden on his person somewhere. Like all apprentices and she, he wore a thick pair of brown pants and a blue and grey tunic with a white sash. Over that, he wore a thick, grey overcoat and a pair of fur-lined boots.

He was talking to a Wood Elf student who introduced himself as Enthir, a senior scholar, and Drevis Neloren, the Dark Elf instructor of Illusion.  
   
While she was glad that Ganir seemed to try and make himself at home, at the same time she’d hoped to have his company to her first class. She was reassured, however, when she found that Brelyna would be attending Faralda’s starter seminar on the arts of Destruction as well.  
  
“Don’t be nervous.” Brelyna smiled at Cirilonde as they walked down the stairs and the hallways to the Hall of Elements where the class would be hosted. “Everyone had to start somewhere, so it’s not any different for you.”  
  
The High Elf nodded and the two of them joined the group of students gathered around Faralda, who sat on the ledge of the font in the center of the room. Some students were sat on the steps with their notebooks in their laps whereas others remained standing and were talking excitedly.

But the laughter and banter ceased and changed to hushed whispers when Ancano made his way into the Hall of Elements as well. Ancano took his spot near a pillar some distance away from the group and he crossed his arms over his chest while glaring  down at anyone who so much as even glanced his way. A chill ran down Cirilonde’s spine as it was all so familiar to her.  _Typical Thalmor…_ she thought, purposely not looking at him.  _But what’s he doing here? Does he actually attend here, or?_  
  
Faralda seemed just as displeased with his presence but ignored him. After tipping the hour glass on the edge of the font next to her, she got up and clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention.   
  
“Good morning everyone. Welcome. For those who have not met me yet, I am Faralda and today I will be instructing you on the basic techniques for casting Destruction spells.” Faralda certainly knew how to keep everyone’s attention as she spoke clear and with confidence while pacing back and forth. “Regardless of whether or not you will be focusing your attention on this school of magic, the basic, theoretic comprehension of this discipline’s teachings and workings are essential for that of your own and fellow students’ safety. Not to mention that all these competences  _will_ be put to the test on a yearly basis if you wish to maintain your membership at the College.”  
   
_There we exams here?_ Cirilonde swallowed. She barely knew anything about any school save for Alteration and Restoration. She’d have a lot of work ahead of her.  
   
“Who here, of the new faces, has a basic comprehension and experience with destruction spells?” Faralda then asked in conclusion as her dark green eyes scanned the small group of students.  
   
She wasn’t necessarily surprised when Brelyna raised her hand, but she was surprised to see that J’Zargo did, whom she hadn’t even seen until now.  _I definitely have a lot of catching up to do,_ she thought.  
   
“What experience do you have, Brelyna. What spells can you cast?” Faralda asked.

Brelyna clearly hadn’t expected to be at the center of attention so suddenly as everyone looked at her. She fidgeted with her quill. “Well, I can channel all the elements, but the projectiles need…work.” Brelyna then nervously laughed. “I nearly set my brother’s robes on fire.”  
   
The people who chuckled weren’t mocking Brelyna, but rather seemed to recall the incidents of their own when they had practiced their skills in the past. “And what of you, J’Zargo?” Faralda needn’t raise her voice as everyone went quiet when she spoke.  
   
The Khajiit bared his teeth in a smug grin, “J’Zargo can cast fireballs.” As impressive as that would be, Cirilonde would have to see it first before she’d believe it as it would be a very impressive feat.

“Very impressive, I’ll look forward to see that,” Faralda nodded. “Cirilonde. What about you?”  
  
“I’ve mostly focused my studies on the schools of Alteration and Restoration for the past fifty years, so I know very little,” Cirilonde replied. Her eyes darted towards Ancano and she couldn’t tell whether he was feigning disinterest or not while he scribbled down whatever it was in a booklet.  _I ought to be careful with what I say…_ Cirilonde thought. “It’s why I’ve come here to learn.”  
  
“So you have absolutely  _no_  experience with Destruction spells whatsoever?” But Faralda concealed her surprise well. Cirilonde wasn’t necessarily offended, however, as it was very common for someone with her heritage to be taught from a very young age. “That’s perfect, really!” Faralda beamed. “Why don’t you come up front for a moment so you can help me?”  
  
Cirilonde wished Ganir was here now to give her some kind of reassurance but instead looked at Brelyna, who gave her the same, encouraging nod and nudge. But the High Elf’s eyes shot in the Thalmor’s direction, who had put his booklet away. He didn’t look too pleased or impressed. “So you have absolutely no experience at all, right?” Faralda asked when Cirilonde joined her. “Don’t worry, it’s fine if you don’t.”  
  
“Little to none,” Cirilonde replied, expecting mocking smirks and whispers but instead found they looked rather interested to see what Faralda would make of all this.   
  
“Very good.” Faralda nodded and turned her attention to the class again. “I don’t know if any of you are as versed as Cirilonde in the schools of Alteration or Restoration, but I’m sure Cirilonde can show you that when it comes to the schools, there are different ‘stances’, so to speak. Your stance isn’t required to be as firm and stable when you are healing in comparison to conjuring up a thunderbolt or fire storm.”   
  
Cirilonde was unsure of what to do but eventually took the hint and let Faralda position her correctly. She stood more firm on her feet as if she was ready to push a heavy boulder or something else out of the way. “As you undoubtedly know, magicka needs to be channeled through your entire being when you cast, however, with Destruction-based spells, you require restraint and learn your boundaries, lest you burn yourself to a crisp.”  
  
The lesson carried on like this where Faralda went on to teach about the importance of stance and how to channel magicka to generate the desired elements of frost, flame or shock. As anticipated, Cirilonde managed fine with the basics but knew she had a long way to go as it was so different from what she knew. She was so concentrated that she completely forgot about Ancano, who watched her and all the students like a hawk as they practiced.   
  
When the session came to its end, the hourglass rung like a clear bell. “All right everyone. That’s it for nw. For the next session come Fredas, I will want you to have read  _The Art of war Magic_  by Zurin Arctus and  _Response to Bero’s Speech_  by the battlemage  _Malviser._ _  
  
_ “Master Tolfdir should be here shortly to host the compulsory lesson for the new students on magical theory and its applications and Master Sergius will be hosting his enchanting sseminar in an hour in the laboratory across the courtyard. Thank you for your time.”  
  
“Thank you for your time, Faralda,” some students chimed respectfully in return. Faralda left, followed by most of the seniors and Cirilonde had hoped that Ancano would leave as well but he lingered.  
  
“Have you noticed that this Ancano figure has been staring us down the whole time?” Brelyna whispered to Cirilonde. “I swear by Azura he expects one of us to blow ourselves up.”  
  
“ _Don’t_. Trust that one.” Cirilonde and Brelyna both looked up and behind them at the High Elf. She was shorter than Cirilonde and lanky with a thin, long face framed by the long, dark-blonde hair that reached her waist. Thick, long lashes emphasized her big and beautiful, sapphire-blue eyes. Both her voice and the way she carried herself was graceful like a swan. “That one is up to something, and really, most of us are around here, but for his sort, that’s never a good thing. The name is Nirya, by the way.”  
  
“I’ve got no intention to get anywhere near that one.” Brelyna said. “I still haven’t decided if he wants us to blow ourselves up, or he wants to blow us up.”  
  
“You’d sooner blow yourself up by the rate you were going at earlier,” Nirya chuckled, but Cirilonde could pick up on the demeaning tone. Granted,  though, Brelyna indeed had to dispel herself to not set fire to herself.  
  
“ _Very_  funny.” Brelyna rolled her eyes at the High Elf and turned away to look at her notes, shooting Cirilonde a look.  
  
“He  _is_  rather handsome though, isn’t he?” Nirya whispered to Cirilonde, who looked at the other High Elf as though she was insane. Had Nirya any idea what kind of men and women these Thalmor could be like?   
  
“I have no intention to get anywhere near him,” Cirilonde said and she furrowed her brow when she swore she’d caught him looking their way. “What’s his sort doing here anyway?”  
  
“Oh, you know, to ‘promote relations’ with the Aldmeri Dominion,” Nirya lilted. “He claims to be here as an advisor to the Arch-Mage but we all know better…” She leaned closer and lowered her voice to a hushed whisper. “They say he’s here to spy on us. What for, though…”   
  
“Some spy then,” Cirilonde couldn’t help but let out an uncharismatic snort. “And some advisor if he does nothing but scowl and prowl.”  
  
“Spoilsport,” Nirya tutted. “But I have to be off. Arniel needs me, no doubt. Tata. Good luck trying to stay awake during Tolfdir’s lecture.”  
  
“Friend of yours?” Cirilonde grinned at Brelyna once the High Elf had gone.   
  
“Don’t get me started,” Brelyna groaned. “I don’t even  _like_ her but she started talking to me yesterday at the Forum once you’d left and just--,” The Dark Elf made a little sound of frustration. “And I mean, really? ‘Handsome’?”   
  
“Not right in the head…” Cirilonde shook her head but her face lit up when she saw Ganir and Onmund who walked into the Hall of Elements. She was so glad to see him and waved for the both of them to come over. She didn’t notice how Ancano’s eyes had narrowed in suspicion at the Dark Elf.   
  
“How was your first class?” Cirilonde asked.  
  
“Illusive,” Ganir grinned. “How about yours?”  
  
“Good. Wish I could say the same for Brelyna,” Cirilonde grinned when Brelyna playfully pricked her hand with her quill. “What about you, Onmund?”  
  
“It was all right. Just a lot to take in,” he said. His hands were stained with ink from frantically trying to take notes. But the group of new students and friends looked up when an old man came walking in. This had to be Master Tolfdir.   
  
The elderly Nord’s hair was an unkempt mane of grey that was bound back as was his thick, long and braided beard. Despite his age, his grey and green eyes held a spark of energy and mischief. His voice was calm, often pitching when he was enthusiastic. He was clad in green and yellow robes with a yellow sash that had clearly seen better days.  
  
“Good morning everyone!” he said excitedly. “Welcome, welcome. I am Master Tolfdir, and I am sure I will get to know all of you in due time if we haven’t met already. I will be your guide for the school of Alteration and Magickal Theoretics.  
  
“For today, I wanted to delve into the practical applications of enchantments to function as wards or other mechanisms.”  
  
None of the new students had expected for Tolfdir to start his lesson so quickly, so the lot of them scrambled for their journals and take notes as the old Nord went on to tell about the enchantments and wards often found in Nordic burial barrows found across Skyrim’s landscape. Ganir’s lips curled into a knowing smirk when he met eyes with Cirilonde as the both of them immediately had to think of Bleak Falls Barrow.  
   
“Which brings me to an exciting bit of news for those interested.” Tolfdir obviously could barely contain his excitement but Ancano looked out right bored and unimpressed thus far. “Master Arniel and his team of seniors have successfully unearthed Saarthal after years of research and he’s been so kind to permit any interested students to come and have a look for a hands-on experience.”  
  
Tolfdir handed a scroll to J’Zargo. “If you are interested, please write down your name so I know who to expect tomorrow early when we travel there. The trip itself will take an hour and we shall be there for the morning. While it is not compulsory, I  _do_ recommend it for the novices.”  
****  
The scroll was passed around and Cirilonde then passed it to Brelyna after signing it. The High Elf wasn’t surprised when Ganir raised his hand to decline and Brelyna walked up to the front to hand the scroll back to Tolfdir.  
  
“I’ve seen enough tombs to last me a life-time,” he muttered to her.   
  
“I doubt it’s anything like Bleak Falls,” she whispered back to him, but they couldn’t continue the conversation when Brelyna joined them again.   
  
“Very good. That will be all for my lecture for today, everyone. For those who will be coming tomorrow, I can recommend reading up on the ancient Nords. We will be leaving tomorrow early at nine in the morning. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask me or your peers.”

As everyone got up and left the Hall of Elements, Cirilonde and Ganir made sure to linger behind a bit so they could talk in peace. “That was all quite interesting, wasn’t it?”   
  
“Not really,” Ganir stifled another yawn. “Is it wise of you to go on that trip, though? I mean, you know so little about these tombs and after what we encountered  _there…_ ”  
  
“Look who’s worrying too much now?” she playfully punched him. “I honestly doubt that  _all_ burials are that dangerous and we’re travelling in a group,” she then assured him.   
  
Ganir lightened up a little but he didn’t look too convinced just yet. “Just…be careful, all right? Things are very…’different’ here.”  
   
“They are…” the both of them glanced at Ancano in passing. He was talking to Tolfdir.   
  
“Then I’m sure you will be reporting to me directly as well…” was all they caught him saying. They didn’t want to linger and arouse any suspicion.  
  
“Nirya told me that he’s here as an advisor to the Arch-Mage to promote relations with the Dominion,” Cirilonde whispered to Ganir, shooting a quick glance at Ancano over her shoulder. “But everyone suspects he’s here to spy on the College. We should avoid him like the plague.”  
  
“Don’t worry. Like I said, he’d be a fool to try anything.” Ganir squeezed her shoulder to reassure her and the High Elf smiled up at him. She’d grown very fond of him and though she would be going to this excavation tomorrow, she also was a bit nervous to leave the College grounds and not have him anywhere near her. Though she’d made plenty in the past, he was a friend unlike any.   
  
“You know, there’s no seminars for a few hours…” she mused. “Maybe we should dig around the Arcaneum and look into…you know…”  
  
“I was about to suggest that.”   
  
  
  
When they made their way to the Arcaneum, they received no warm welcome from Urag who was dusting the countless shelves. Students either climbed the ladders or used magic to levitate the books off or back onto the shelves for their studies. It took Cirilonde considerable effort to get her bearings but once she figured out how Urag operated, it wasn’t long before she’d gathered some books.   
  
They made their way to a discreet table on the corner where they started to not only read up on the ‘Dragonborn’ and Skyrim, but also the material she was suggested to read by Faralda and Tolfdir. They were surprised to find that the ‘Dragonborn’ wasn’t just a title bestowed upon the Imperial Septim family, but actually meant more than just that.   
  
“Look at this.” Cirilonde tapped on the passage of a page in ‘ _The book of the Dragonborn’._ She then began to recite. “-The connection with dragons is so obvious that it has almost been forgotten, in these days when dragons are a distant memory, we forget that in the early days, being Dragonborn meant ‘having the Dragon blood’. Some scholars believe that was meant quite literally, although the exact significance is not known. The nords tell tales of Dragonborn heroes who were great dragonslayers, able to steal the powers of the dragons they killed.”  
  
Ganir immediately grabbed the book, not believing what he heard or read for that matter, and that it had been so easy to obtain information about this whole matter. “Do you think that’s what happened in Whiterun?”  
  
“Has to be. But wait, there’s more. Look.” She turned the page where large letters spelled out ‘ _The Prophecy of the Dragonborn’._  “When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world. When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped. When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles. When the Dragonborn rules loses his throne, and the White Tower falls. When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding. The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.”  
  
Ganir wasn’t sure what to think of this prophecy but he couldn’t shake that unsettling feeling off of him. “What do you think?” he asked. “Prophecies seem a bit…too much, don’t you think?”  
  
“Well, there’s this too.” Cirilonde then grabbed a book titled ‘Amongst the Draugr’ by Bernadette Bantien. “Remember the Draugr we encountered in Bleak Falls? Look here…’I had always wondered why the ancient priests of the dragon cult insisted that their followers be buried with them.’. And then here.”  Cirilonde pointed out a variety of passages to Ganir and it was all a lot of information to take in.   
  
“So, what you’re saying is that the whole ‘Dragon War’ all these scholars thought to be a myth, actually happened? That all these ‘dragon cults’ existed and that this prophecy might be true?” Ganir furrowed his brow as he looked at the notes Cirilonde had laid out along with all the books. “That’s just too crazy,” the Dark Elf frantically shook his head and waves his hands, not wanting to believe any of this. “You saw what happened in Whiterun, but what if that’s how dragons die? That its spirit kind of tried to attack me, but failed?”  
  
Cirilonde wasn’t very sure of what to think. She wasn’t exactly one to believe in the wild tales she’d heard over the years about the ‘Nerevarine’ and Oblivion Crisis. “You’re right,” she shook her head with a small smile. “It’s about as ridiculous as the ‘Avatar of Akatosh’ appearing in the Imperial city. All scholars agree by now it was just a powerful anomaly of united magical energies.”  
  
“Right.” The Dark Elf gave a wry chuckle but Cirilonde paid no heed to it when the Dwemer clock work in the center of the Arcaneum chimed.   
  
“Have we honestly been in here for that long?!” she exclaimed in a hushed tone, her eyes wide with disbelief. “It’s dinnertime!”  
  
“Well, yes…I guess,” Ganir shrugged as he gathered the books. “Why don’t you go on ahead. I’ll make sure everything gets back to its rightful place. I’ll be with you shortly.”  
  
“Would you?” Cirilonde gave him a quick hug. “Thank you. I promised Brelyna I’d help her so she must’ve been waiting for hours!”

Now that he was alone, Ganir looked at one of the books they’d been reading titled the ‘Dragon War’ and he wasn’t sure what to feel or think about any of this.  _But that prophecy…_ He then shook his head and chided himself as well. All sheer and stupid coincidence. Not that it necessarily explained how or why dragons had returned, but there probably was a logical explanation for it like hibernation or…something, right?   
  
Ganir had just put the last book back on the right shelf when his senses suddenly peaked to an alarm. He grabbed a firm hold of his dagger and spun around. Though the blade could’ve torn his throat out, Ancano hadn’t even so much as flinched or moved but raised an unimpressed brow at the Dark Elf, whose blade was but an inch removed from his throat.   
“One would wonder what one of your sort is doing here if they so easily and callously swing their iron about,” he casually observed in a silken tone. “Unless of course, you are not who you claim to be and you are either hiding something or  _from_ something…”  
  
“I could say the same of you sneaking up on me, fetcher.” Ganir growled. The two elves stared each other down and though the Thalmor’s eyes _dared_ him to try something, Ganir pulled his dagger away. “So what are you insinuating?”  
  
“I would make a poor advisor if I were to base my assumptions blindly,” Ancano said. “While it may have eluded the less than competent staff here, I couldn’t help but notice that you and your travelling companion arrived in a less than…appropriate fashion. Like you ran into trouble…or caused it. Either way, I find it most questionable what your sort is doing here.”  
   
“What I’m doing here is none of your damn business.”  _Talos-hunting s’wit._ Ganir knew he was playing a dangerous game by antagonizing the Thalmor, but he also knew Ancano wouldn’t risk anything rash with so many witnesses around. He picked at his teeth as he spoke, leaning against the side of a book case. “So what exactly are you going to do about it if you don’t have any of your Thalmor friends around to drag me off to some dark dungeon?”  
   
“You would do well to remember that I  _do_  report my findings to my superiors and-,” Ganir gave the bookcase a shove and the books on the top shelves fell off. Urag’s head shot up and in their direction.   
  
“Haven’t I warned you properly enough the last time, Thalmor?” Any student who was still close by immediately gathered their things and got away as fast as they could. “I told you, you come in here again, you do well to keep quiet and respect my books.”  
  
The High Elf bore an expression of angry indignation, “I will have you know that this Dark Elf did so and not I!”  
  
Urag’s head shot to Ganir who held his hands up and it looked as though he’d just been shoved against the bookcase. “Out.” Was all the Orc said.   
  
“I beg your pardon.  _What_?” Ancano’s tone grew dangerously low as he and the Orc glared at each other. “Need I remind you who I am and-,”  
  
“I don’t give a damn, knife-ear.” A vein near Urag’s temple began to throb dangerously. “Be a pest elsewhere and get out of my Arcaneum before my Atronachs escort you out. Am I clear?”  
   
Ancano seethed in silent fury and he clenched his hands into fists to restrain himself. How dare this savage dare to not only threaten him, but also mock his authority here at the College while he was a respected agent of the Thalmor  _and_ the Arch-Mage’s advisor?!  
He made to turn and spit whatever, venomous remark or threat he could think of at the Dark Elf, only to find that he had disappeared.  
   
_That filthy Ashlander cur!_ He glared at Urag, who crossed his arms over his large, broad chest.  _Oh, I will be watching you and your little friend quite closely…_ _  
_  
  
   
After comparing her notes to Brelyna’s and the other way around, Cirilonde had excused herself and retreated to her room to work on her notes. Her head shot up when a knock came at the door and before she could even answer, Ganir came in and shut the door behind him. “What happened to you? Did Urag-?”  
  
“No.” The Dark Elf shook his head. “That damn Thalmor bat showed up and tried to weed his large nose into my business.”   
  
“What?” Cirilonde looked worried. “What happened?”  
   
“The fetcher tried to corner me in the Arcaneum.” Ganir then told her what happened and how he’d thrown books from a shelf to attract Urag’s attention. The Orc had quickly come running and when Urag saw what was really going on, he shot to the Dark Elf’s aid so Ganir could make his silent escape.   
  
Cirilonde’s stomach churned. “He’s been questioning everyone.” Her fingers played with a stray lock of hair as the rest of her hair was bound back into a messy bun. “I don’t know what he’s hoping to find, or if he’s even looking for anything…I won’t be able to avoid him forever but I won’t be looking forward to it when he does catch me for a ‘little chat’.”  
  
“Well, you will be at Saarthal tomorrow, so there’s that,” Ganir said. “But his favored tactic seems to corner you when you’re alone. So as long as you’re not alone…”  
  
But none of that seemed to comfort Cirilonde at all. She stood up and washed her ink-stained hands in the nearby basin. “Look, it’s been a pretty exciting first day, so don’t worry about it all too much and get some rest. Speaking of which…” he then reached into one of his tunic’s sleeves and pulled one of his dagger’s out.   
  
Cirilonde shook her head, “I  _knew_ you had to be hiding them somewhere.” She then furrowed her brow when he gave it to her.   
  
“It may seem a bit excessive, but I want you to take it with you tomorrow. Just to be sure,” he said. “And I won’t take no for an answer.”   
  
She weighed the hilt of the dagger in her hand, quite intrigued by the Dunmer fashion of how it was crafted.  The blade was more jagged and crude but razor sharp. But it wasn’t what made it so deadly from what she could tell, detecting the subtle hint of a powerful enchantment like the ones on his armor. “I’ll take good care of it. But are you sure that’s necessary?”  
   
“Not sure. You’ll see tomorrow I guess.” Ganir ran a hand through his hair and tugged at his beard in thought for a moment. “But you should go to bed. I have to go and see Drevis about an assignment he had for me.”  
  
“This late?” Cirilonde furrowed her brow.  
  
“Yes, something about cleaning the fonts around the College grounds.” Ganir grumbled. “If I’d known that’s what I was volunteering for, I never would’ve raised my hand.”  
  
“Just be careful, all right?” Cirilonde bit her lip. “I mean, I don’t think Ancano is about to give up any time soon until he has the answers he wants.”  
  
Ganir chuckled and swept a few stray locks out of her face. “I’ll be fine. I can handle myself. You just make sure he doesn’t get a hold of you.” He then kissed her forehead, which initially surprised the both of them at first. But Ganir felt he strong urge to protect her. Those Thalmor that had been all the way out  there, waiting for her, then Helgen and Whiterun, and now Ancano. She definitely wasn’t helpless but they only had each other all the way out here. “Sleep well.”  
  
“Sleep well,” she smiled and once he’d left the room, she locked the door behind him.  
  
Ganir made his way out of the Hall of Attainment to the courtyard where Drevis stood waiting for him as they’d agreed. The Dark Elf handed him a pair of leather gloves.   
“Heard you ran into trouble with you-know-who.” Drevis spoke in the Dark Elven language and he held onto the gloves that Ganir had made to take from him. “Urag wasn’t too pleased…”  
  
Ganir shot Drevis a sharp look as he snatched the gloves from his grasp. “I had to improvise. It wasn’t like I set fire to his books.”  
  
“I’m not about to berate you.” While Ganir’s eyes were red, Drevis’ eyes were crimson and they shot fire at his fellow Dark Elf and student. “But I hope you’re aware that you need to watch your step around that one. Arch-Mage Savos wasn’t happy at all, but if he wants to maintain his diplomatic neutrality, he has to put up with this Thalmor as well, so his hands are tied. You’re not making it easier on any of us by antagonizing him…out in the open, at least.”  

“I’ll be more mindful then.” Ganir grumbled grudgingly as he hadn’t exactly thought of any of that.   
  
“Now, as you may be aware, these fonts are more than just a fancy way of illuminating the College grounds but that these fonts purify and enhance the natural energies of the world. This helps us enhance our connection to our flow of magicka. But over time these energies tend to get…polluted.” Drevis put on a pair of leather gloves himself as well and he leaned over the ledge of the large font in the center of the courtyard. He then scooped up what Ganir had thought to be snow or dirt, but in fact was a foul-smelling, thick glowing goo. He carefully put it in a steel bucket at his feet. “Make no mistake, Ganir, this is not a procedure without possible…consequences. The material can be volatile if not handled properly, so be careful. But you’d help me a great deal if you could start on the font in the Hall of Elements.”  
  
“Yeah, sure.” Ganir grabbed one of the steel buckets and walked to the Hall of Elements. He wasn’t all too pleased about the mediocre task but at the same time it gave him the time to think.   
  
Whether Ancano was here to spy or not, the Arch-Mage and Ancano both had their hands tied in regards to what they could or couldn’t do. Ancano was free to question members of the College, but couldn’t enforce anything whereas the Arch-Mage couldn’t prevent all the same from his members being questioned.   


  
A small orb lit up and rang until Cirilonde woke to dispel it. The early morning light fell through the tiny, thin window in her room and she had barely tied her hair into a braid and bun when Brelyna knocked at her door.   
  
The two of them made their way up to the Forum for some breakfast and pack their bags with some snacks and a meal for underway that would last them for the day. They weren’t alone for long as J’Zargo, Onmund and a few other, new students came in, one looking more groggy than the other.   
  
“Aren’t you used to get up early as a farmer’s son?” Brelyna asked Onmund whose shoulder-length, blond hair was a bit of a mess and he had rings under his eyes.    
  
“For your information, I  _couldn’t_ sleep.” He grumbled while picking at his porridge. “I don’t even know why I signed up.”  
  
“Oh come on, we talked about this yesterday!” Brelyna exclaimed with a sigh.  
  
“You don’t get it, Brelyna! How would you feel if I dug around your ancestors’ remains?” Onmund asked.   
  
“You’d be busy a while as they’re buried under meters of volcanic ash.” Cirilonde nearly choked on her soup at Brelyna’s dry remark. “Besides, how likely is it that they are  _your_  ancestors? I really don’t see the problem you’re making out of all this.”  
   
“I just don’t know…” Onmund scratched the back of his head. “I suppose you’re right though. Doesn’t mean I like it, but …”  
  
“You could learn a lot about it,” Cirilonde chimed in. “And it’s not as bad as you think it is.”  
   
“It’s already snowing, so J’Zargo’s fur is going to soaking wet by the time we get there.” The Khajiit complained.   
  
“Well, you’re in Skyrim, what did you expect?” Brelyna voiced the exact same thought Cirilonde had and the two women chuckled.   
  
“I just hope we don’t get into any weird trouble…” Onmund finally admitted what was clearly  _really_ bothering him. “I don’t know, I just have a bad feeling about it.”  
  
“Unlikely and even then they’re hardly any trouble.” Cirilonde swore inwardly when the Nord, Khajiit and Dark Elf looked at her funny. “Well, you all read that book by Bernadette Bantien, right?”  
   
“I wouldn’t know what to do, honestly. I’d be terrified.” Brelyna admitted and they all looked at her funny now. “Don’t give me that look! Just because I was raised as a Telvanni doesn’t mean we had Undead and Daedra for pets!”

“The undead shouldn’t be a problem to deal with  _if_ we even run into any,” Cirilonde assured them. “ mean, judging by the book, they don’t seem all that bad or dangerous.”   
  
“ _Not bad_?!” Onmund’s horrified expression said it all. “I had nightmares for  _years_ thanks to my brother who convinced me that Draugrs would steal children from their beds at night and drag them off to their barrows.”  
  
Everyone burst out in laughter and even Onmund eventually gave, even if he laughed on the wrong side of his mouth. After breakfast, they all gathered their belongings and went up to the Entry Hall where Tolfdir stood waiting for them. Brelyna failed to suppress her urge to groan when Nirya showed up as well and it turned out she was a part of the excavation of Saarthal.   
  
“J’Zargo cannot wait to find all the valuable things. He has a keen eye for that, you know?” The Khajiit said to them as they walked across the bridge. “Maybe he can find something to make him even more powerful.”  
  
The Khajiit shrieked when he fell over backwards into the snow. J’Zargo had been walking backwards and thus hadn’t seen the mound of snow. They all laughed and helped him back on his feet before they continued thier way to Saarthal. Cirilonde smiled because she was not just having fun, but she was also making friends and growing more confident it wouldn’t be long before she and Ganir would feel more at home.  
   
If only they knew what would await them there and how it would change everyone’s lives for good.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 20-04-2016: A huge lot changed in this chapter in comparison to the previous ‘edition’. After reading, granted, most readers ‘know’ what the Dragonborn is about but Cirilonde and Ganir only know ‘so much’, right? So I just had to fix that and delved into it more by making them discuss their findings in the Arcaneum.
> 
> Then there was the matter of Ancano questioning Ganir. It didn’t feel 'proper' or crafty enough for someone like Ganir, or Ancano, for that matter, who is not as easy to portray as you'd think. That, or I'm looking way too deep into all of Skyrim's characters and my own -shrug- I dunno. All in all, I’m very satisfied with all the things I edited and added to the chapters because working through the past five chapters alone up until now again, the story feels so much more alive and credible.
> 
> And really, I swore his name was ‘J’Zhargo’ and not ‘J’Zargo’… Oh well 


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rewritten as of 20-05-2016

**Chapter 6**

Saarthal’s excavation site lay a half hour’s walk away from Winterhold to the south-west, but Tolfdir and the students were caught off guard by a sudden snow-storm. The wind tore away at their clothes and they shivered from the cold as they waded through the knee-deep snow.   
  
Just when Cirilonde began to fear they’d gotten lost, the excavation site came in view. Expecting something as large and imposing as Bleak Falls Barrow, she couldn’t help but find that Saarthal seemed small and insignificant in comparison. This didn’t necessarily alleviate any worries she harbored, knowing from her experience, that one couldn’t judge things by appearances. Plenty of goblins, ghouls and in the worst case, vampires and necromancers, had made their hideaways in places as such.   
  
But judging by how things were now, their main concern would be to not get caught unaware by another storm when they were to return to the College at the end of the day or so.  
   
The excavation site was half the size of a field, dug from the ice and snow and its walls were supported by thick, wooden beams. As eager as they were to be out of the weather, they all carefully descended the rickety and slippery, wooden steps to the carved and heavy doors that led into the ruins.   
  
Everyone shook the snow out of their hair and off their shoulders once they were inside. The students huddled close to one another and the lit brazier to get warm, thankful for the shelter from the weather.  
   
_This climate will definitely will take some time getting used too._ Cirilonde’s cheeks held a rosy glow as the cold still stung her cheeks and hands. Looking around, she blew her hot breath into the palms of her gloved hands in an attempt to warm herself. Like Bleak Falls Barrow, Saarthal was carved from the stone and ice, though not as spacious. From what she dared guess, Saarthal’s interior would change in space and appearance the deeper they delved.  
   
“And here we are.” Tolfdir whisked the snow out of his hair and beard, but neither he or Onmund were as bothered by the cold as the two elves and Khajiit. “Now, you no doubt wonder what relevance this place has to what we talked about yesterday, but the very interesting thing about this tomb, is how the magical seals have prevailed after all this time. It’s rather unlike anything we’ve encountered.”  
  
“So while we are here, I need you to stay close to me.” Seeing the worried looks on some of the students’ faces he smiled, “There’s no need to be scared as we should be safe, but I’d rather we all be cautious in spite of that. We have no idea as to what residual energies linger.”  
  
With that, Tolfdir turned and led them down the tunnel into the ruins and while the students stuck close to the old Nord, they kept enough distance to talk amongst themselves in hushed tones.  
  
“What is that _stench_?” J’Zargo covered his muzzle with his scarf. Onmund pulled a face when the scent greeted him and he and Brelyna both covered their mouth and nose with their scarves. While Cirilonde did the same, she was more familiar with the scent than she liked to admit to anyone.  
   
_This is a tomb all right…_ she thought. The scent was indescribable and odd if one wasn’t familiar with the source, but Cirilonde could tell them apart. Embalming fluids, the stench of treated, linen wraps to mummify the corpses, mold and fungus that had formed over the decades in a place sealed shut for countless ages now exposed to fresh, cold air. It wasn’t the type of stench to churn one’s stomach but it certainly could make one queasy or lose one’s appetite if not leave a rather odd scent in one’s attire.   
  
But this wasn’t what bothered Cirilonde and had all her senses peak to an alarm, even if but for the fraction of a second, but she was sure…When a chill made her shudder, she chastised herself for letting her imagination get the better of her. These weren’t the  It wasn’t this that bothered her as much, however. Even now that she had warmed up, there was this feint, subtle but chilling energy that lingered that was very much like the power that had emanated from that strange wall in Bleak Falls Barrow but all the same it was…different and very unsettling.  
   
Rather than a torch, Tolfdir had conjured two, blue luminescent globes that lit their way, casting eerie shadows whenever he manipulated them to show certain carvings on the walls. Now that some of the nerves had gone, the students moved more comfortably and looked around, listening to what the old Nord had to tell them. “As some of you may know, Saarthal was one of the earliest Nord settlements in Skyrim. It was also the largest.”  
  
With an incantation and the flick of his hands, Tolfdir sent both the orbs flying and they grew in size, illuminating what remained of the great hall. They stood on one of the many walkways, indicating that this perhaps had been a plaza of some sorts which would lead to various parts of Saarthal but most of it had collapsed. Over the course of the excavation of course, the College’s scholars had built make-shift walkways to navigate through the place.   
  
“-,not much is known about what happened to Saarthal, which makes this an exciting opportunity for us. To be able to study such an early civilization, and the magics they used.”  
  
Realizing now that he was delving into a place related to his ancestry, Onmund’s fear was replaced by fascination and he dared to have a closer look at the carvings on the wall and statues. Tolfdir smiled, glad to see his students were getting excited now and continued to tell them about the progress of the excavation. Listening herself as well, Cirilonde couldn’t help but notice the alcoves in the wall that were clearly meant to hold caskets, yet held none. Had they been removed? And then there were these depictions on the wall carved from the stone. Masked men in robes were depicted as saints of some kind, surrounded by rays of light and dragons backed away from the waves of power that didn’t come from their hands, but their mouths. Smaller humans were depicted as groveling and submissive to these robed and masked men, fearing the dragons that burnt them alive and in some, the humans brought them offerings. The High Elf furrowed her brow and she couldn’t help but wonder…  
   
“So, what is it exactly that you’d like us to do here, Master Tolfdir?” Brelyna asked suddenly, snapping Cirilonde from her train of thought.   
  
“That’s a very good question, Miss Maryon,” Tolfdir smiled. “You’ve signed up for an extraordinary and rare chance to be the first to study-,”  
  
“Ah, Master Tolfdir! I was wondering whether or not you’d make it.” All heads turned up to the doorway where Nirya stood leaning over the railing.  
   
“By Azura, not _her…_ ” Brelyna groaned under her breath.   
  
“Shhh!” Cirilonde hissed but her lips had curled into a playful grin. “Before it hears us.”   
  
“I just hope we don’t end up stuck with _it._ ” Brelyna whispered in response. “But if we do, do not _ever_ mention Faralda or she’ll go off a tangent about how ‘ _whatever she’s told you, it’s all lies_ ’.” Cirilonde raised a questioning brow. In response, Brelyna whistled in a low tone and twirled her finger in a circle near her temple.  
  
“-no problem at all then, Nirya. I’ll send them your way.” Tolfdir said to Nirya, who then disappeared from the alcove. The old Nord then turned to the small group of new students with a smile. “All right, while J’Zargo, Onmund and I conduct our research on the registered findings of which we’ve already determined the nature. As for the both of you, Nirya shall be along shortly to retrieve you so you can assist Arniel with their recent finds.”  
  
The High Elf elbowed the Dark Elf when she groaned in exasperation, recovering quickly by pretending to clear her throat. “Dusty,” she apologized to the old Nord who’d raised a confused brow as to what was up with the Dark Elf.   
  
“But that’s hardly fair, Master Tolfdir!” J’Zargo whined. “J’Zargo wishes to be the first to explore these ruins. He is more capable and strong. Right, Onmund?”  
  
Onmund exhaled sharply when the Khajiit nudged him a bit too sharply with his elbow. Though he was more than eager now to learn more about his ancestors up close, he still preferred to play it safe lest one of his ancestors decided to haunt him because he broke a plate. “I’m sure we’ll be taking turns, right, Master Tolfdir?”  
   
The old Nord nodded to confirm and then turned to the two elves who quickly took on a casual attitude as they had been pulling faces at Onmund and J’Zargo. Now that Tolfdir had turned his back to them, it was Onmund and J’Zargo’s turn to pull faces. “If you head up this rampart and follow the lit torches, you should be able to meet Nirya half-way. She is assisting Arniel with the cataloguing of the recent finds and I’m sure he’d be happy to have you assist him in any way you can.”  
   
“We’ll be on our way then!” Cirilonde pulled a reluctant Brelyna along. Once out of earshot of the others, she turned to the Dark Elf, who still didn’t look all too happy, “Come on, it can’t be that bad. I’m sure she’s far too busy studying her complexion in whatever reflective service to yap our ears off.”  
  
“I don’t even get _what_ she’s doing here to begin with.” Brelyna  whispered in response. “Azura forbid the girl gets her hands dirty. She can’t bat her lashes at that damn Thalmor here either.”

Cirilonde and Brelyna both looked at each other, clearly thinking the same as the most ridiculous image crossed their minds and they burst out in laughter. They could just envision Nirya blowing kisses at Ancano whose face would still bear the same scowl.   
  
“Care to share what happens to be so funny?”  
  
Cirilonde and Brelyna both froze in their steps as Nirya had rounded the corner unexpectedly and the two exchanged worried glances as to whether or not the other High Elf had heard them or not. “Just an inside joke, you wouldn’t get it,” Brelyna said quickly.  
  
“Right. Novices amongst each other after all, right?” Nirya’s smile could’ve easily been mistaken for a friendly one if Cirilonde wasn’t so familiar with how well her kind could veil their condescending tones and remarks. She let it slide, however. “Follow me,” Nirya said with a sigh. “The sooner you get to work the sooner I can return to the College.”

“Is there anything particular you would have need us do?” Cirilonde asked.   
  
“Well, I’ve been working on packaging all our finds to return it to the College for further study.” Nirya replied. The three elves crossed a rickety, make-shift walk-way that led to a newly excavated wing of the ancient settlement. Here, they found Arniel Gane in a small antechamber. Arniel was a thin, balding and middle-aged man clad in dusty, brown robes with a green sash. He had been so immersed in his work, Nirya had to clear her throat to get his attention. “They’re here,” she said, not veiling her annoyance with the Breton for whatever reason. “Cirilonde and Brelyna. Meet Arniel Gane, one of our scholars.”

Arniel politely shook hands with the both of them but didn’t make direct eye-contact and he seemed rather skittish and uncomfortable around people in general. “Good. Good. I made further notes on the recent finds here…” he caught a goblet he almost, accidentally sent toppling off one of the large, ancient tables where a variety of ancient tomes, tools and what else lay laid out. Small pieces of parchments with scribblings were placed on or underneath them; theories as to what the items could have been and what purpose they may have served.   
  
“Could you at least put in more effort to make it coherent, however?” Nirya tore out the page from a ledger Arniel had been reading in. “I’d like to occupy myself with packing things, rather than translate and transcribe your terrible handwriting.”  
  
“I…I will,” Arniel apologized but his eyes lit up with relief when Tolfdir came walking towards them. “Master Tolfdir!” he called out and waved. “So good to see you.”  
  
This time, it wasn’t just Cirilonde who noticed. Brelyna glanced at Cirilonde when Nirya briefly narrowed her eyes in Tolfdir’s direction. “You may want to hurry, Nirya dear, if you want to make it back to the College before the end of  the day. There’s still plenty of items for you to pack.”   
  
“But of course, Master Tolfdir,” Nirya smiled at the Nord through clenched teeth but returned to her assigned tasks without another word, disappearing into another room.   
  
“It is good to see you as well, Arniel,” the old Nord smiled knowingly and quite self-satisfied. “I see you have made quite some progress.”  
  
“Just the weather that’s not cooperating.” Arniel seemed quite a lot more at comfort now that Tolfdir was here and relaxed a little. “I was about to ask what you would want these dames to do while they are here. They could help me, if they like as I’ve quite the job ahead of me cataloguing items. But I think it might be very educational for them to have a gander at the newly excavated wing we secured.”  
  
“We would love to delve into the newly excavated wing, if you don’t mind, Master Arniel.” Cirilonde wasn’t aware of this herself, but her smile held a charm that could win many a man over. “I’m sure Master Tolfdir and you have a lot of scholarly things to catch up on.”  
  
Brelyna shot her a look as if saying, ‘right, like they’ll let us.’   
  
“Very good. It’s glad to see such eagerness to learn,” Tolfdir smiled. “It’s down that hallway, right, Arniel?”  
  
“Yes, it is. We’ll be along shortly. Just have a gander and take some notes.” Arniel agreed and the two elves made their way there as fast as they could before the men changed their minds.  
   
They followed the tunnel that led to this new wing but took their time to take it all in. Though Cirilonde had been in Bleak Falls Barrow, she hadn’t had the time to study things like she and Brelyna could now. Wooden beams supported the walls and ceiling and the two elves were fascinated by the ancient writings and depictions on the ancient walls covered under a thick layer of dust that tickled their noses.  
   
“Do you mind if I ask you something?” Brelyna whispered after a while once certain they were alone. “You and Ganir seem close. I heard he had a run in with Ancano in the Arcaneum.”  
   
“He did, but he managed to get away from him.” Cirilonde looked at the sketch of one of the wall-carvings she’d made. _Ganir might be interested to see this…_  
  
“Lucky for him that he got Urag’s attention from what I heard,” Brelyna continued, who was taking notes herself. “I’ve been avoiding Ancano myself, really for the exact, same reason. What about you?”  
  
“Likewise. I’ve been avoiding him like the plague.” The way Ancano spoke, glared at people. It reminded her all too much… “He’ll try to question all of us.”  
   
“I don’t get how it’s any of that bastard’s business to begin with!” The Dark Elf’s temper flared and her ears rang with an odd, white noise that enhanced the sound of her quill scratching the paper where she frantically began to scribble. “Not exactly a way to ‘promote relations with the College’, if you ask me. He really creeps me out and I don’t get why the Arch-Mage would permit for him to intimidate his students like this. I’ve contemplated talking to Mirabelle about it, but, I don’t know…” Startled, the Dark Elf dropped her quill and she looked around when no response came from Cirilonde. “What are you-?! Ciri?” Turning around, Brelyna caught a glimpse of the High Elf rounding the corner down another tunnel to another room. “Ciri?!”   
  
Brelyna’s mind reeled to comprehend what was happening. How had she not noticed that Cirilonde had dropped her sketchbook when something took a hold of them both? ***1** But the Dark Elf wouldn’t let herself be scared. Most likely, some ghost was toying with them and she knew how to handle this, so she gave chase after Cirilonde from a safe distance.  
  
Cirilonde however, found that try as she might, could not think straight. This entity that had taken a hold of her without warning, left no space for her to struggle, yet she was aware of everything it made her do. Vaguely, she could remember how one moment, she was sketching, listening to Brelyna’s rant when this cold struck her in the back out of nowhere, stunning her and slowly pulled her back. How her lips had moved but no sound came as she tried to alarm Brelyna whose quill tore away at the paper.  
  
_I should’ve…_ A sharp pang surged through her brain whenever she tried to think. _Listened…to myself…_   
  
The entity’s beckons had been a whisper on the water at first. Its caress the shiver down her spine from the moment she’d set foot in Saarthal and it now guided her through the dark, eerie hallways of the newly excavated wing.  
   
Thankfully, Brelyna was in close pursuit of the enthralled High Elf but stayed a safe distance as she wasn’t quite sure of what to do. Whatever had a hold on Cirilonde, was definitely no ordinary ghost or wraith. If she were to attract its attention like she had planned, Azura knew what would happen.  
   
The dusty hallway led down to two passages of which only the one to the left was accessible. The other passage was barred from entry by an ancient, steel gateway. There was an odd haze over the entranced, High Elf’s eyes who was reeled into the room to the left by unseen tendrils. Though no voice was heard, Cirilonde felt something call out her name and she was guided to an alcove where an amulet was hung from ornate, stone hooks. The amulet itself was carved from ancient bone and fangs of some kind adorned the leather, worn cord. Even in the feint light of the room, the amulet held an eerie glow.  
   
Normally, Cirilonde’s logic would’ve dictated for her to keep her hands away from this amulet and get out of this place. Or at the very least, wonder how none of this had happened to anyone else, or noticed a lone amulet dangling here. A terrible chill ran down her spine when she found that she still had no control over her body and though her mind cried out to escape, her hands reached towards the amulet and her slender fingers lift the amulet from its resting place.  
   
The moment the amulet was removed, an ancient mechanism sprung to life. Cirilonde shrieked and made a startled jump as this ‘hold’ was released on her and she spun around when she heard quite the racket behind her. Sharp, jagged and steel spikes had shot up from the crevices in the doorway she’d come through, trapping her within. Amulet in one hand, she bolted towards the doorway and grabbed a firm hold of the bars, shaking them in the hopes of breaking free. _No, no…No!  
  
_ Thankfully for her, Brelyna had not abandoned her and Cirilonde had never been more relieved to see someone. “Brelyna!” she grabbed hold of the Dark Elf’s hands through the bars. “I’m _so_ glad to see you! I don’t know-,”  
  
“I know, I saw.” Brelyna assured her and they both tried to shake the bars and pull or push them out of the way. Again, to no avail. “Are you all right? One moment you were here and suddenly…”  
  
“I don’t know! I…I’m fine, I think…Are you?” Cirilonde’s mind reeled to grasp what had just happened.   
  
“I’m fine too…I think.” Brelyna furrowed her brow, worried and afraid, when the High Elf glanced over her shoulder. Cirilonde could no longer sense this presence but it was as if it was watching her still, somehow, from a distance.   
  
“Look, you need to get Master Tolfdir and see if he can get me out of here, quick!”  
  
“But I can’t leave you…”  
  
“Well, it’s not like I’m about to go anywhere, right?” She wished she didn’t sound so irritable, but Cirilonde now dared admit she was actually afraid and it felt as if her brain was being cooked. “Please, just go get him!”  
  
Brelyna was reluctant to leave her friend alone but went to retrieve the old Nord, knowing only he would be able to help. Though the headache had subsided some, Cirilonde was still eager to escape and conquering her initial fear, she tried to hang the amulet back in the hope it would free her. But nothing happened. She then studied the amulet and sought the room for some kind of crevice it would fit in, or some hidden lever, but she could find nothing. Thankfully, Brelyna returned within a few minutes with Tolfdir.  
   
Cirilonde expected Tolfdir to chastise her but the old Nord did no such thing. He remained calm and gauged the situation, running his wrinkled hand over the bars and shook them as well. “Sturdy all right.” He commented before turning his attention to the distraught High Elf. “Are you all right, child?”   
  
“I am.” Cirilonde grumbled. “I just can’t believe this happened to me of all things.” Embarrassed she held up the amulet. “I shouldn’t have removed this.”   
  
“It happens to the best of us,” Tolfdir assured her. He’d have to ask questions later. Though his appearance was easily mistaken for an old, kind fool of a man, he knew that one didn’t simply ‘happen to wander’ and ‘stumble across’ an amulet. “Now let’s get you out of here. Have you tried putting the amulet back in place?”  
  
“I have. Nothing happened,” she replied, defeated.  
   
Tolfdir thoughtfully stroked his beard. “Have you tried putting it on?”  
   
“I...don’t think that’s wise.” Cirilonde bit her bottom lip as she looked from the amulet in her hands to Tolfdir.   
  
“I’m sure you’ll be fine. Just stay close. If anything happens, we’re here.” He assured her.   
  
_I don’t like any of this…_ Cirilonde thought but she stepped close to the gate that should anything happen, Tolfdir and Brelyna could grab a hold of her and remove the amulet. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she put the necklace on, squeezing her eyes shut as if she was about to burst into flames or get cursed some way…but nothing happened. Not at first.  
  
The hairs on the back of her neck stood upright, a nausea overwhelmed her along with the chill that surged down her spine when this presence returned. All her senses peaked to an alarm and Cirilonde wondered if the amulet had anything to do with it…and if it perhaps was a smart idea to remove it. But then she noticed the strange pulse that emanated from the wall where she removed the amulet. Furrowing her brow, she approached it, ignoring Brelyna’s worried whimper.  
   
Cirilonde swallowed and reached for the alcove, unsure if she was about to be hurt or not and a little shriek escaped her when the stone began to melt in a very strange way. _There never was a wall?_ The High Elf frowned, confused and didn’t lower her guard even when the presence withdrew into the tunnel behind the wall. When the spikes that had trapped her withdrew back into the ground, she turned, so glad to have been freed. Tolfdir and Brelyna rushed over to her.  
   
“Are you okay?” Brelyna asked.   
  
Cirilonde nodded and having had quite enough of it, she ripped the cord from her neck but Tolfdir grabbed her wrist before she could throw it away. “No need to be scared of the unknown.” The old Nord took the amulet from her and studied it. “This is certainly an unexpected but interesting development…thankfully without anyone getting hurt.”  
  
“Yet…” Brelyna added skeptically, peering into the tunnel as well.  
   
There was no telling what was going on in the Nord’s mind as he studied the amulet before looking at the tunnel entrance. “Miss Maryon,” he finally said after a moment of thought. “Could you please inform Arniel that Miss Valanocke and I shall be exploring this tunnel further?”   
  
“Of course, Master Tolfdir.” Cirilonde wasn’t sure whether Brelyna envied her or not because both the elves knew what had happened and it wasn’t exactly a good sign. “Just be careful, all right?” With that, she turned and headed off to inform Arniel as instructed.  
  
“Master Tolfdir, with all due respect, but, would it really be wise to take a novice such as myself along?” Cirilonde asked. Granted, she had been in Bleak Falls Barrow and she had helped clear at least a dozen tombs from ghouls or likewise hauntings but this was…different.   
  
“Judging from the recommendations we received along with your application, I find it hard to believe this incident was the cause of a rookie mistake, Miss Valanocke.” In spite of his friendly smile, Tolfdir’s voice held a sharp tone now. “And as experience has taught us both, caution will be key as we proceed.” ***2**  
   
“So you figured it out,” she mumbled, slightly embarrassed. “But isn’t that all the more disturbing? Has no one felt this presence at all?”  
   
“Perhaps they have, perhaps not,” Tolfdir replied. “It is fascinating how we rely on logic and reason where our intuition is perhaps the best guide to have in scenarios such as these. But no matter, what is done is done and I think you and Miss Maryon learned a valuable lesson…” Cirilonde felt the blood rise to her cheeks and she mumbled an apology and thank you. “That’s quite all right, Miss Valanocke. Now, let’s have a look, shall we?”  
   
Cirilonde let the Nord lead the way down the tunnel that led to a small, circular room with two caskets and an altar with rotten and dried offerings. The caskets stood up right, one on each side against the wall in an alcove. There was another door that would most likely lead them deeper into…well, whatever part of Saarthal this was. She couldn’t see or tell as the dark and engraved, solid, stone door wouldn’t budge.   
   
“This is  _highly_  unusual but most interesting,” Tolfdir muttered as his fingers traced the writings carved into the altar. “Why in the world would this…this place be sealed off? These walls…these engravings look like they date back to at least-,”  
  
Cirilonde leaned forward on the altar when she grew light in her head and it took her a while before she realized Tolfdir wasn’t just frozen in place…but in time. When she heard the rustle of robes behind her, she spun around with Ganir’s dagger in hand. Her first suspicion was that it’d be a Draugr, or perhaps Brelyna, or another curious student, but this man was a complete stranger.  
   
She wasn’t even sure whether this High Elf was real or not because there was an odd haze over him as though she was looking at him from under water. It was hard to discern but he was clad in golden-yellow, ornate robes with elaborate patterns in red, black and white. His hood cast a shadow over most of his long, gaunt face, his chin graced with a goatee.  
   
“Who are you and what have you done to Tolfdir?” She hoped she sounded tougher than she felt and she was thinking of what spells she could use against him if need be. _This is definitely not a ghost…But just_ what _is this?!_ “What do you want?” _He’s definitely not a ghost, but how…Time has…  
_    
“Please, I mean you no harm.” The stranger raised both his hands. “I need you to listen closely as you have set in motion a chain of events that cannot be stopped. As you had no way of knowing, no judgement has been passed.”  
   
“What are you talking about? What events?” However he had managed to do so, freezing time was beginning to wear down on her already. It was like falling asleep on a carriage and then waking up to the nauseating hobble and rumble, knowing you’ve been moving but your brain doesn’t quite seem to catch up yet. Sweat began to bead her forehead and she swallowed the bile back as her stomach began to churn. “Talk. Explain yourself!”  
  
“I have little to no time, Lady Valanocke. I bid for you to listen.” The stranger’s eyes nervously lingered on Cirilonde’s dagger. She wanted to ask how he knew her name, but was afraid she might retch on the spot if she opened her mouth. “I had to freeze time for what little of it I have. There’s grave danger ahead of you. The  _sole_  reason I am able to pass this warning to you, is because the Psijic Order believes you are the only one with the potential to prevent disaster. Take heed and know that the Order is watching.”  
_  
_ “Just what are you-? Hey!” The monk disappeared like one’s reflection would when a stone was thrown into the water. The flow of time returned and Cirilonde was overwhelmed with motion sickness. This shift was so intense that Cirilonde had to lean on the altar for support and she struggled not to pass out or vomit.   
  
Tolfdir gasped once he broke free of the time’s hold and leaned against the wall for support. He had grown paler than she’d ever seen any Nord be. “What…What in the world just happened?” He then stumbled forward to lean on the altar as well, his skin paler than she thought possible, even for a Nord.   
  
“I…I don’t know.” Cirilonde swept the beads of sweat from her forehead and she swallowed the bile back. “Some kind of magical seal we broke, maybe?” She hated lying but at the same time she wasn’t even sure if any of what had just occurred was even real. If it was, it definitely did not bode well for what was meant to be an innocent day of practical study. The Psijic Order was an order of magi who had openly opposed the Thalmor and made their whole island of Artaeum disappear from the Summerset Isles, now Alinor where the Aldmeri Dominion reigned. And one of them had just appeared here, out of nowhere, freezing time in the process just to ‘warn’ her. But about or for what?  
  
Either way, whether any of this was real or not, she knew that somehow she had gotten into something way over her head…again. It was even too late at this point to  try and get everyone out of this tomb now that they were so close to something that had to be _big._  
   
Both the Nord and High Elf looked up when they heard the scraping of heavy stone and they saw how bony, rotten fingers pushed the lids of the caskets behind each of them to the side. When they met eyes, they were clearly thinking the same. _Great, just what we needed!_  
  
As nauseous and disoriented as they were, the Nord and High Elf met eyes as the Draugr emerged from their tombs. Cirilonde nodded at him and nudged her head to her right, hinting there as well with her eyes and the Nord took the hint. The Draugr both unsheathed their ancient sword and axe to strike but when the Nord and Elf dove to their right, their weapons were slammed stuck into the altar.   
  
This bought Cirilonde the time to paralyze the Draugr with a spell before she plunged Ganir’s dagger into its forehead.   
  
The other Draugr struggled to free his axe from the altar but it bought Tolfdir the time to conjure a magical lance of ice that he bore through the Draugr’s chest, killing it instantly and it collapsed to the floor in a miserable heap.  
  
“We make quite the team. Good work, Miss Valanocke.” The color was slowly returning to Tolfdir’s face and the both of them took some deep breaths to regain their composure. Tolfdir then furrowed his brow and tiptoed to look past Cirilonde into the casket behind her before he then turned to look into the casket behind him. “What do you think, Miss Valanocke?” There was a sparkle of excitement in the old Nord’s eyes that made him look so young all the sudden as he looked from the young High Elf before him to the levers hidden in the back of both the caskets.  
   
With the dizziness and nausea fading, Cirilonde also felt more able  to rationalize what had just happened. No doubt, some kind of illusion had gotten a hold of the both of them, preying on their fears. _But…_ a little voice in the back of her head reasoned. _What did you ever have to fear from the Psijic?_ But this thought only made her more determined. Whatever lay beyond here, it was best they discover it before the Thalmor or anyone else unsuitable would after all, right?  
  
And she wasn’t alone either. Tolfdir perhaps seemed old and brittle but he certainly was no fool. “Stay sharp, Master Tolfdir.” She said to him with a nod, unable to help herself from grinning.   
  
“Ready when you are, Miss Valanocke.” Tolfdir nodded at her with a wide smile. “We are about to discover something _grand_.”  
   
When the both of them pulled the lever, they had both anticipated some kind of trap’s mechanism to spring to life so the both of them ducked for safety, but none of that happened and the both of them looked at each other, a shiver running down both their spines, as the solid, stone doors opened.  
  
One by one, the torches within the room beyond were lit and Cirilonde and Tolfdir carefully inched closer to peer inside, the both of them ready to attack whatever could. “Auri-El…” Cirilonde’s breath was taken away and Tolfdir was at a loss for words.  
  
The cistern that lay beyond the door was not impressive by any means. A small bridge led across the small body of water at its center but what worried them were the caskets, twelve in total, that were lined up against the wall. Two chains dangled near the door across the room that would no doubt open it when pulled. Anticipating that the caskets wouldn’t open until the chains were pulled the two of them carefully inched into the room but Cirilonde let out a little shriek when one by one, the lids of the caskets were splintered to pieces and sent flying across the room. Tolfdir grabbed her by the wrist and intended to flee the room with her but steel bars shot up from the crevices in the floor, trapping them within.   
  
“Barrier!” Tolfdir hissed, grabbing a firm hold of her wrist again.   
  
“What are you-?!” Tolfdir had pulled her down to her knees with him and upon seeing the fiery glow emit from a ring on his finger, she knew what he intended to do. She immediately began to incant and the barrier that protected them glowed as bright and ardent as the flames that burst from the ring around Tolfdir’s finger. The water at the center of the room began to boil and Cirilonde heard the Draugr’s cries of confusion and pain when the whole room was bathed in flames and devoured all that was not protected by the barrier she struggled to maintain.  
  
In a matter of seconds, all was silent, but she didn’t dare open her eyes until Tolfdir swore profoundly. He tore the searing, white-hot ring from his finger and it fell to the ground. The whole room was filled with steam and the Draugr stood frozen in place. Their whole bodies were charred black and their jaws were agape. The eerie, light-blue glow in their eyes simultaneously dimmed and their bodies fell in heaps of ashes tot he ground. ***3**  
  
As their weapons clattered on the ground, Cirilonde wanted nothing more than shield her sensitive ears from the racket but she held on to Tolfdir, whose hand was burned badly as a result of the enchantment partially backfiring on him. “Master Tolfdir…!”  
  
The old Nord hissed in pain and held onto his arm, leaning on the High Elf for support, but in spite of all that, he was laughing. The High Elf looked at him, wondering if he’d gone mad. “Not exactly as planned, but I bet they didn’t see that coming.”  
  
“Neither did I, really,” Cirilonde admitted with a chuckle but she looked worried when she carefully pulled the sleeve of his robe up. “It’s nothing too bad, but it needs immediate attention, if you let me.”  
  
“But of course, child. Please do,” Tolfdir said as nasty blisters began to cover the bright-red, burnt skin on his right arm. “I’ll definately need to review this enchantment with Sergius at a later time.”  
  
“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” Cirilonde smiled at him. “Just, hold still a moment, please.”  
  
It was when she began to incant, however, that she noticed something disturbing, but she couldn’t stop. Not that it was for the worse, as much as it frightened her because the energy that had so suddenly disappeared had returned unseen but certainly felt and merged with the flow of her magicka. She knew very well how well she had grown to master the arts of Restoration but this energy enhanced her powers and Tolfdir’s skin was mended without the slightest flaw as if no harm had ever come to it. Tolfdir and she met eyes, astounded and at a loss for words for a moment.   
  
Just what was it that lingered below here? And how was it possible it had not been found before in all those countless years?  
  
“That certainly explains why the ring reacted so violently…” Tolfdir furrowed his brow and there was a contemplative flicker in his eyes. “Let us press on. Whatever lingers beyond, we must contain it.”  
  
“Shouldn’t we head back then and get the help of the others?” Cirilonde asked, but Tolfdir shook his head.   
  
“It is too risky as we’ve delved too far as is…” He began to utter an incantation and Cirilonde was awed by the familiar he conjured; a spectral sparrow that fluttered around him. When the Nord concluded his spell, the sparrow fluttered off, leaving a brief, shiny trail in its wake.   
  
_That’s…amazing…_ Cirilonde had already been thoroughly impressed with Tolfdir thusfar but now even more so respected the man for being so simple and unassuming for someone as strong as he. “Let us go then, Master Tolfdir.”  
   
They both approached the chains which they simultaneously pulled so they could venture deeper into Saarthal. But the deeper they delved, the both of them noticed how not a speck of dust lingered on any of the tables where fresh, linen wraps and clean tools lay spread out. Though the books had rotten away, they were neatly dusted and lined into the cabinets. But even more so, how the magical energy of this entity had first enhanced their magickal abilities, now grew grim, more intense and… _Intelligent…_ Cirilonde concluded as a shiver ran down her spine.   
  
Rather than welcoming, Cirilonde and Tolfdir looked at one another as this entity grew defensive, beating down on them with unseen force that sucked the energy out of their bodies and pushed them  way. In the distance, they heard the racket of a tempest; a furious wind howling and the subtle hint of a strange, teal glow of some kind. It was enough for Cirilonde to ponder retreat, but the Nord would have none of her concerns and so they pressed on.  
   
When they finally made it tot he end of the hallway, Cirilonde’s breath was taken away as they had entered a spectacular room much like a throne room, or temple of some kind where they found the source of their discomfort.   
  
A multi-facetted, massive orb floated ominously in the center of the room above an altar, surrounded by the whirling storm of glowing, teal energy.

   
  
  
“Careful, Ganir,” Drevis said to his fellow Dark Elf. “This residue is pretty volatile.”  
  
“Maybe we should spike Ancano’s wine with it,” Enthire suggested which only earned him a glare from Drevis, who immediately glanced the perimiter just in case the Thalmor was nearby and on the prowl.  
  
“Define ‘volatile’…” Ganir said before he could help himself, much to the Wood Elf’s delight.   


“No, don’t you even _dare_ …” Drevis warned. “We _never_ managed to scrub that residue off the walls. If the Arch-Mage actually paid attention to what happened here…”  
  
Ganir had been eager to find out what exactly Enthir had done when the three elves all looked up, startled by the rapid clatter of hooves on stone, followed by the gates that were flung open. “That’s Arniel’s horse…!”   
  
But it was Cirilonde who stormed in on the back of Arniel’s horse; a sturdy, palomino. Her robes were torn, scorch and there were bloodstains on them. She was clearly not injured, or not any more, at least, but still distraught. She dismounted the horse with surprising grace given its speed and ignored her surroundings, storming into the Hall of Elements.  
  
Ganir made to give chase, worried, but Arniel’s horse, who was near the entrance to the Hall of Elements wasn’t letting anyone get close. Steam emitted from the equine’s coat and as exhausted as it was, it was still distraught by whatever had happened. The horse kicked up its massive hooves at anyone who got near, save for Enthir, who managed to calm the horse down. When Ganir made to enter the Hall of Elements, however, Drevis grabbed a hold of his fellow Dark Elf’s shoulder.   
  
“You best not,” Drevis said, shaking his head. “Ancano will be on top of this in no time and the last thing you need is attract more attention.”  
  
Though Ganir understood, he clenched his jaw tight, not agreeing in the slightest. “Let’s first take care of Arniel’s horse.” Enthir said. “I’m sure we’ll find out what happened in no time.”  


   
   
Cirilonde’s vision had been a blur as she was so focused on returning tot he College. She had caught a glimpse of Enthir, Drevis and Ganir and though she wanted nothing more than his comfort and listening ear, there was no time to waste. She skipped some of the steps of the stairs up to the Arch-Mage’s tower and she tried to catch her breath a bit before she knocked on the door.  
   
_I should’ve known…_ she thought, as she was unpleasantly surprised in spite of that, when Ancano answered the door. He peered down at her past his long nose, raising a brow as he immediately took note of the state of her apparel. “Yes?”  
  
“I need to see the Arch-Mage, if possible.” Cirilonde tried to sound as calm and collected as possible but she was rather out of breath.  
  
“I don’t see how it’s the Arch-Mage’s concern-,”  
  
“Who is there, Ancano?” The voice that came from behind Ancano sounded much like Ganir’s except older and more gentle.  
  
“An apprentice here to see you.” Ancano said to the voice over his shoulder.  
  
“It’s Cirilonde, Arch-Mage. Master Tolfdir sent me to see you. It’s important.” Ancano narrowed his eyes at her but she  returned the courtesy. The adrenaline was still surging through her veins and this was more important than her fear of him or the Thalmor. “I don’t recall anyone putting _you_ in charge, _Advisor._ ”  
   
As the  two High Elves glared each other down, Cirilonde had to agree that Nirya was right. Ancano definately couldn’t be trusted but he was also handsome. His golden skin was flawless, shaven and his amber-colored eyes were intense and dark, but very cold and observant. His silver-white hair was a stark contrast to all this, brushed back and reached just past his shoulders with not a single hair out of place.  
The shoulderpieces of his spotless, Thalmor robes made him look more broad than he perhaps was, but she couldn’t really tell.   
  
“Let her in then, Ancano, if you please.” The Arch-Mage said.   
  
The two High Elves exchanged a final glare before Cirilonde pushed past hi mto enter the Arch-Mage’s Quarters. She wasn’t surprised to find that the Arch-Mage himself was a Dark Elf, given his voice. He was clad in elaborate, triangular robes made of dark-brown, leather and fur robes with golden embroidery; a mixture of the Nordic and Dunmer style of clothing. What intrigued her, was that the Arch-Mage’s snow-white hair was bound in the same fashion as Ganir’s, except in a bun rather than a high pony-tail. His scarlet eyes were a strong contrast to the pale, grey skin and stood out. He had to be old, even by elven standards.

When the Arch-Mage saw what state Cirilonde’s robes were in, he groaned. “ _Please_  don’t tell me one of the students got incinerated in Saarthal. I have some most pressing matters that require my attention.”  
  
“No, Sir, anything but that.” _Though given what happened…not too far from it._ She shot a glance at Ancano, who stood close to her left and she remembered Tolfdir’s instructions. “However, it’s still a delicate matter I wish to discuss with you privately.”  
  
It was brief, but she could see the sharp flicker in the other High Elf’s eyes and how his lips thinned slightly into a sneer, but his expression was smooth and betrayed nothing when the Arch-Mage looked at him.  
   
“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind waiting then, Ancano?” Judging by the tone, however, the Arch-Mage clearly wouldn’t take no for an answer without being disrespectful. Most patient, in fact, which Cirilonde had to admire given what kind of person Ancano was.   
  
Displeased as he was over this, Ancano respectfully bowed his head, though with a clenched jaw. “But of course, Arch-Mage. I thank you for your time.”  
   
Cirilonde felt the tension ease off her shoulder when she heard the rustle of his robes and then the opening and closing of the door. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that he indeed was gone and looked at the Arch-Mage, who had returned to take a seat behind his desk.  
  
She furrowed her brow, wondering whether or not she ought to approach or speak. He hadn’t even looked up from his writing but he raised his hand as if sensing her inquiry and again she glanced over her shoulder at the door, wondering if Ancano was perhaps still behind it, attempting to eavesdrop on them.  
  
She closed her eyes as it was feint at first, but inhaling again, her nose caught the scent of burning embers, leather-bound tomes and…incense of some kind? She felt her body relax as her breathing steadied to a slow. The tension and adrenaline slowly left her body.( ***4)** Now that her mind was no longer muddled by everything that had transpired, she felt at ease enough and able to actually take a proper look at her surroundings.   


In her lifetime she had met plenty of eccentric magi and scholars whose quarters were decorated with odd trinkets and ornaments, but the Arch-Mage’s Quarters surpassed it all. The walls of the Arch-Mage’s tower quarters were lined with bookshelves, glass display cases and paintings. The shelves weren’t just lined with bland, old tomes, but also with statuettes, trinkets and artefacts from all corners of the world. What fascinated her the most, however, was the herbarium behind the Arch-Mage’s desk. A smaller statue of Shalidor watched over the Arch-Mage, surrounded by Creeping Cluster, mountain flowers and various types of mushrooms. Torches lined the walls, but were not lit. A small fire crackled in the hearth, but the source of light was provided by countless, small orbs of magical, blue light that floated peacefully through the quarters with a seeming will of their own. The Arch-Mage’s bed was most likely in the back, behind the statue that was supported by the tower’s central pillar.

“Cirilonde, was it not?” The Arch-Mage finally asked as he laid down his quill.   
  
“Yes, Arch-Mage, Valanocke,” she nodded. She wasn’t sure what tot hink of his aloof demeanor, however. “I’m terribly sorry if I interrupted the daily course of your affairs, Sir.”  
   
“No. You haven’t. In any case. I’m the Arch-Mage. Savos Aren.” He gestured for her to have a seat and Cirilonde took up on the offer, approaching the desk, but she  remained standing for now, leaning on the backrest for support. “So, tell me, what was so urgent you needed speak with me privately?”  
   
“I was at Saarthal with Tolfdir and the others today,” Cirilonde started, and she proceeded to tell the Arch-Mage everything, save for the appearance of the Psijic monk. “We made to approach this orb, but it was guarded by a Draugr unlike any I’ve encountered. This orb we found made it’s magic exceptionally powerful. We defeated it in the end, but only because the others came looking for us and shot to our aid.”   
  
She could tell Savos was listening, but sometimes, his eyes had this hollow, thousand-yard stare as his memories seemed to take him elsewhere. If he was troubled by any of this, he certainly didn’t let it show. “It is why Tolfdir sent me rushing here to deliver the news while the others secured the site.”

The Dark Elf raked his fingers through his beard, clearly in thought. “I’m glad you’ve come to inform me then indeed,” he finally said. “While I head out to see Tolfdir about this…discovery, I would like you to further your research on the matter of Saarthal’s history.”  
   
When he extended his arm to his right, a travelling cloak flung off a nearby hook into his hand and he put it on. “You might want to check in with Collette to have a look at you, first, however…” Cirilonde had known she’d barely escaped with her life but only now did she realize how close she’d been to injury, or worse. There was a large tear at the side of her robes and the sleeves and trimmings were singed and there were a few holes in her robes where the Draugr had either tried to grab hold of her or stab her with its jagged, ancient blade. Her spells had been able to ward the worst impact off but her body was riddled with small cuts and bruises.  
  
_Good thing they arrived in time…_ she thought. Tolfdir and she had not been able to run, out of breath and at a loss for ideas when Brelyna came running in with Onmund, J’Zargo and Arniel. Combining their efforts and skill, they managed to block the Draugr’s connection tot he arcane and kill it. “Don’t get me wrong, however, I’m most pleased to hear about such a display of prowess. Keep it up and you might find yourself amongst the Journeymen soon enough.”   
  
“Thank you, Arch-Mage.” She bowed her head. In spite of her sorry and sore state, she was so happy to receive such a compliment. “Safe travels to Saarthal, Sir.”

Once she’d left the Arch-Mage’s Quarters, she made her way down the steps. Once there, she leaned back against the wall in an alcove and took a few deep breaths to make sense of all that had occured. She made to run her fingers through her hair, when she noticed the large, singed holes in her sleeves and how a tangled mess her hair was.   
Looking more closely at herself now, she grew aware of how intense the fight against this Draugr had really been and how fortunate both she and Tolfdir had been to have gotten out of that mess practically unscathed. _Right…?_ She patted her stomach and sides to make sure of it she had no injuries, but found none save for bruises and cuts.   
  
But this wasn’t over yet. She knew that much, especially since the Arch-Mage had bade her to find what she could on Saarthal’s history. But she felt so sore, weak and tired.  
  
_All right, come on. The Arcaneum is close. Nice bath and bed after. Be a big girl._ Taking a deep breath, she made her way down the tower to cross the hall and make her way over to the Arcaneum. She had barely set foot into the stairwell when the wind was knocked out of her lungs. She stumbled against the wall for support and instinctively reached for her dagger and with her other hand, but Ancano grabbed hold of her wrist, twisting it so she let go of the hilt and no sound came from her lips.  
  
She bared her teeth in a snarl, angry and afraid she’d let herself get caught off guard by the Thalmor who’d cast a silencing spell on her. She hissed in pain when he dug his fingers into her skin, which began to burn and she ceased to struggle. “I suggest you refrain from any cheap parlor tricks,” he warned her, pushing her harder against the wall with his hip when she tried to kick him, covering her mouth with a gloved hand. “If you thought for even a moment you could outsmart me, you’re wrong.”  
  
“Let. Go!” Her voice was muffled by his glove, her cheek scraping painfully against the wall.

“I will once you’ve told me what had you scramble back here in such a hurry to see the Arch-Mage,” he purred, a smirk on his lips with the satisfaction he’d caught her. “So let’s make this easy fort he both of us, shall we?”  
   
“I believe I was sent to inform the Arch-Mage and not _you_.” Her eyes shot fire at him, but yelped when she began to struggle and he shoved her hard against the wall again, twisting her arm further. _  
_    
“And I recall I am his Advisor and can make your stay here less than pleasant if need be. Knowing where you’re from, you know very well what this means.” His eyes burned into hers. “So if you would stop playing coy and not waste my time…”  
   
“I don’t have to tell you a blazing, damned thing, you wretched fetcher!” She caught him off guard by throwing her full weight back against him, but she had barely made her way half up the stairs when he caught up with her. He tore at her arm and pulled her back. She lost balance by this sudden force but he caught her, pinning her back against the wall again. It was very clear he was running out of patience with her.   
  
“I’m getting tired of your games,  _apprentice._ ” He grabbed a firm hold of her robe’s collar and stared her down. “So I suggest you tell me before I take on more drastic measures…”  
  
With his back to the stairwell, it briefly crossed Cirilonde’s mind to give him a good shove, but feared the fall would kill him at the same time. Her mind reeled, no _prayed,_ for an idea to get herself out of this mess. Ancano’s lips had barely curled into a victorious smirk when the door to the Arcaneum burst open and they heard Mirabelle and Faralda’s voices. “Don’t think for a moment this is over,” he warned her. “But I will be watching you, all of you, closely and if I so much as hear you’ve spoken of this with anyone…”  
  
Ancano disappeared without a trace or sound and Cirilonde sank through her knees to the floor. She desperately tried to contain her sobs and seal shut the old wounds he’d opened unaware. But regardless of that, when Faralda and Mirabelle had made their way down over to her, they were startled to find her in such distress.   
  
“What happened? Are you all right?” Mirabelle asked her as she and Faralda helped her to her feet.   
  
“Just…I’m all right, just…” Cirilonde was certain that Ancano lingered somewhere, but even then felt it was best to lie about her encounter with the Thalmor for the sake of everyone’s safety. Ancano was no ordinary bully who’d make idle threats. “We had a bit of a rough ride with the Draugr at Saarthal. So I was going to get something to eat and rest first after I…retrieved some things for Urag.”   
  
_“You’d best be doing that quick, then,” Mirabelle said sternly. “Have you checked in with Colette? Looks like you took a fair beating.”  
  
“I’m all right, thank you. Don’t worry. I best be on my way!” Though Mirabelle wasn’t quite sure whether or not to believe the High Elf, Cirilonde could tell by the sharp look Faralda shot her, she knew that more was going on. When Mirabelle had turned away, Cirilonde mouthed ‘Ancano’ to her, pointing down tot he steps and Faralda nodded.   
  
“Very good, Miss Valanocke, I hope to see you tomorrow at my class again then!” Faralda played along.   
  
To Cirilonde’s relief, there was barely anyone in the Arcaneum. She leaned against the door and took a few deep breaths to gather herself. __That was_ _way_ _too close. Ganir. He needs to know about this…_ _  
That encounter with Ancano certainly wouldn’t be the last one._ _One thing at a time, Ciri._ _She told herself and straightening her back, she walked past the circular, open stairway in the center of the Arcaneum, to the back, where Urag was generally found sat at his desk.  
  
_ It was a funny sight to see an Orc like him treat books with such gentle care, donning gloves to not stain the ancient parchment of the tomes he was tending too. He furrowed his bushy brows at her disheveled appearance. “You’d better not make a mess of my books, girl. What can I do for you?”   
  
“I just got here, so don’t worry about your books,” she shot him a look, crossing her arms over her chest. “The Arch-Mage requested I see if you had any books on Saarthal and its history.”  
   
“Saarthal, eh? That explains…” Urag shook his head. “I’d lend them to you, but I don’t have them anymore,” there was a visible twitch at his brow, clearly getting annoyed. “They’ve been stolen.”  
  
“Stolen?” Cirilonde raised her brow, finding it hard to believe, given how the Orc guarded his Arcaneum as close as a dragon would his hoard.  
  
“You heard me.” The Orc growled. “Was before you wet-ears got here. A small group of students got into a disagreement with the Arch-Mage. He wouldn’t let them perform any more summoning rituals after one of the students got torn to shreds by a horde of angry scamps. They left, but not after they helped themselves to some of the books they needed.”  
   
“ _Great._ And I suppose the Arch-Mage doesn’t know about this.” Cirilonde groaned with frustration. “And you of course, don’t know by chance where they were headed, right?”  
   
“Of course he knows,” Urag snorted. “He just never got around to take care of it, like always. Good thing you’re here now, right?”  
   
“Me?! How am I even-?! Isn’t this _your personal plain of Oblivion_?!” Cirilonde exclaimed. “So much for keeping everything in pristine condition.”  
  
Urag’s temper flared and startled Cirilonde by slamming his fist down on the desk so hard it almost gave. “I don’t exactly expect any students here to be sliming thieves, you hear!” Realizing he’d lost his temper and raised his voice, he seemed somewhat embarassed and lowered his tone to a hushed whisper. “Look, I can’t exactly leave the Arcaneum either because I’d not only return to a disaster of a mess, but it would raise questions with that damn Thalmor.”  
  
“And me leaving wouldn’t?” Cirilonde hissed. “Do you even know where these guys went and they even have those books?”  
  
“You went to Saarthal, right? You could easily leave for ‘research’.” Urag said to her. “And yes, I know where they went and what they took. I’d make a damn poor warden if I didn’t know what the Arcaneum’s collection existed of.”  
  
Cirilonde heaved a frustrated and resigned sigh. There was no twisting or turning around this. She’d have to deal with this. “Fine.”  
  
“They went to a place called Fellglow Keep,” Urag said. “It’s one of those old, Imperial Forts that were either destroyed during this or previous wars…” The Orc pulled a scroll out from under the countless cabinets and drawers and shelves of his U-shaped desk and rolled it out. It was a map of Skyrim. “After asking around and looking into it myself, I found it’s somewhere around here, near Whiterun.”   
  
Cirilonde made to run her hand through her hair as she looked at the map, only to find her fingers tangled in her locks. “I don’t really get a choice or say in the matter, do I?”  
   
  
Taking the marked map with her, Cirilonde hurried to her room, hoping to find Ganir along the way as well, but he was waiting for her there. The moment she set foot in her room, he locked the door behind them and he caught her in his arms before pulling back to look at her. “Are you all right? What happened, I-,”  
  
“I’m not injured, don’t worry,” she assured him, not letting go of him.  
  
“Where are the others?”  
  
“They’re still at Saarthal or on the way back. I-,…I don’t even know where to begin!”  
  
It was erratic at first, but once she’d calmed down some, Cirilonde told Ganir _everything_ that had happened at Saarthal from the moment they arrived, to the appearance of the Psijic Monk before they discovered the orb and fought the Draugr Warlord. How she’d rushed back to the College to inform the Arch-Mage and got cornered on the way to the Arcaneum by Ancano, but got away by sheer luck. As she spoke, Ganir watched how she would tend to her small injuries. Her incantations were melodious, serene but sweet and would briefly bathe room in a warm, golden glow.  
  
“The problem is, however, that the books got stolen by a group of students gone renegade,” she concluded while trying to untangle the mess of her hair with her brush and some kind of jasmin-scented oil from a small flask. “I just don’t know what they-,” She turned to look at Ganir when he grabbed a hold of her hand that held the brush. The sleeve of her robe had slipped down and though it was feint, he had seen the imprint of a hand on her wrist.  
  
“Did he do this to you?” he asked, his blood boiling at the mere thought, but he pulled back a bit when she menacingly pointed her hairbrush at him.   
  
“Don’t even _think_ about it,” she warned him and before he even thought of protesting, she whipped the brush at him again. “No. Do you even realize what he could be capable of? Antagonizing him is only going to make things worse not just for us, but also for everyone else here. Besides, it’s nothing compared to what the Draugr almost did to me.”  
  
“Promise you don’t wander around alone from now on.” He knew she was right, but if he so much as caught him hurting her or anyone else…She nodded and he smiled a little, reassured a bit. “But all of this…Are you now supposed to go and retrieve these books?”  
   
“So, a Psijic Monk just  _froze time_  to warn you about this ‘orb’ and now you have to hit the books for information on this thing, which have been stolen?” He repeated after she told him everything.  
  
“Yes, and I have no idea how to go about it…” She sighed and sat down on the edge of her bed, a bit at a loss and so tired.   
  
“Before we do anything else, you need to get something to eat and get some rest,” he then playfully tugged at her robes, smiling down at her to cheer her up a little. “And maybe change into robes that aren’t torn to shreds. You look like you wrestled a dragon. I’ll wait just outside the door, all right?”  
  
He had barely shut the doors behind her when the door to the Hall of Attainment opened and both Faralda and Mirabelle entered. “Is she-?” When the Dark Elf nodded, the Master Wizard was quite relieved, until Ganir told them what had happened.   
  
“I wish there was more I could do about this, but my hands are tied,” Mirabelle said. “Ancano is here as an ambassador of the Thalmor to promote relations. If he were to be treated poorly, it could affect the College as a whole.”  
  
Ganir pulled a face, not too pleased to hear this. “And what about the books? I won’t let her go all by herself and deal with it.”  
  
“If Savos hadn’t instructed for her to do so, I wouldn’t have permitted any of it.” Mirabelle crossed her arms over her chest. “However, he considers it important, so it’d be best if you join to assist her.”  
  
“And Ancano?”  
  
“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of that,” Faralda assured him. “In the meantime, I suggest you best avoid him and should he ask, he should inquire with the Arch-Mage.”  
  
“Or me,” Mirabelle added. “This discovery may have him even more busy. I suggest you get ready and leave as soon as possible. We’ll try to keep Ancano busy in the meantime.”  
  
“Thank you.” The Dark Elf bowed his head and Faralda and Mirabelle left the Hall of Attainment to do as they had said.  


 

* * *

 

xxx

* * *

 

**20-05-2016:** I’m so dreadfully sorry to keep you waiting for updates on this story while I rewrite it, but the more I read back, the more I see room for improvement. And this chapter alone was proof of it. Thank you for being so patient. Let me know what you think. Any feedback, comments/kudos etc. are welcome =D

***1:** I hope I described it well, but I just had to elaborate here to be sure. But the Eye of Magnus’ influence is strong, enhancing or hampering one’s flow of magicka, I estimate judging by the lore. Given how a mage’s emotions can enhance their magical abilities, I figured that the Eye of Magnus, because of how intelligent it is, would use Brelyna’s ramblings to fuel her temper for long enough to distract her so that the Eye could take control of Cirilonde and lead the High Elf to the amulet.

***2:** It bothered me how in some situations, Tolfdir was portrayed as a bit of a senile, old idiot while the guy has to be pretty bad-ass for his age given what he knows and how he’s not afraid to take Ancano on with you in the quest, so yeah, I had to give him credit where it was due that as old as he is, he’s really not an idiot. Or, I figured, he may keep up that front just to piss people like Ancano off.

***3:** Judging by the effects Ancano suffered, I imagine the Eye of Magnus gives one a huge boost to their magical abilities, or enhances the effects of magically enchanted items/weapons. Therefore, a simple enchantment of a ‘fire storm’ to ward off the undead, or perhaps just ‘Turn’  them, could have such a devastating effect as seen here.

***4:** I figured that’s how a ‘Calm Creature’ or ‘Calm Humanoid’ spell would work. In spite of how aloof and distant Savos Aren, the Arch-Mage, appeared during the time you actually see him and talk to him in game, he seemed like a most capable man who preferred not to flaunt his abilities.


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> UPDATED AT LAST as of 14-08-2016
> 
> Had he not kept a journal, Ancano would’ve found it difficult to believe he had been posted (or stranded, rather, in his eyes) at the College of Winterhold for three months now. For so far, his stay was best described as uneventful, but aggravating and the College’s faculty had treated his presence as such.
> 
> Back in Solitude, he’d learned soon enough that the Thalmor would never receive a genuine, warm welcome anywhere in Skyrim. Not that he cared for the opinion of, what in his eyes, were primitive, superstitious savages, but he’d at least hoped that the College was held to certain standards. He was terribly mistaken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize a thousand, million times for keeping you all waiting for so long on an update of the rewritten chapters but upon reviewing this I was caught between whether or not I wanted to go into detail on the events of Fellglow Keep and decided that it was essential, but I wanted to go about it the right way.
> 
> As a result, I struggled for a while not only with the right approach as how to write/portray it all, but also with the tedious distractions as of late: real life work, Pokemon Go (yes, I was guilty of that fad) and so on. But here it is, the rewritten chapter 7.
> 
> Again, I apologize for keeping you waiting. I assure you the updates on the rewrites will be coming more regularly now and then I shall continue once more!

**The Unlikely Companions – Chapter 7  
**  
Had he not kept a journal, Ancano would’ve found it difficult to believe he had been posted (or stranded, rather, in his eyes) at the College of Winterhold for three months now. For so far, his stay was best described as uneventful, but aggravating and the College’s faculty had treated his presence as such.  
   
Back in Solitude, he’d learned soon enough that the Thalmor would never receive a genuine, warm welcome anywhere in Skyrim. Not that he cared for the opinion of, what in his eyes, were primitive, superstitious savages, but he’d at least hoped that the College was held to certain standards. He was terribly mistaken.  
  
His journey to the College had been dreadful as he was forced to spend most of his energy on casting spells to protect himself from the elements. The roads were practically absent, hidden by snow and ice, if not barred from proper passage by fallen trees, debris and what else.  
When he finally approached the gates of the College, he was exhausted but the cold left his body upon meeting Mirabelle Ervine, who got his blood boiling in a matter of seconds.  
  
Ancano completely understood and respected the fact that Savos Aren couldn’t receive or welcome him personally, but Mirabelle treated Ancano and what he represented with such flippancy and disrespect, he lost his temper.  
   
Before anything could get out of hand, however, Faralda coincidentally happened to drop by, smoothing the situation over, suggesting she show Ancano to his room. Not that this improved his mood when Ancano got there.  
   
“By the time our Arch-Mage got around to read your superior’s letter, we’d but a week to prepare.” Though her apology didn’t seem too sincere, Ancano was too tired to argue the matter and requested to be left alone in his room, which had previously been used for storage.  
It was clear the College staff had hurriedly cleared the worst of the mess out to make room for a bed, desk and wardrobe. He scowled up at the spiders that seemed to mock him as they dangled from their webs.  
   
Intentional or not to receive him so poorly, Ancano didn’t care as he’d slept in worse places; ditches filled with mud and corpses, flea-ridden cots stained with blood and other bodily fluids, if he even got any sleep as his wounded comrades would lie writhing near him in agony while battles in the distance raged on.  
Compared to all that, this was heaven and whenever the cold kept him awake late at night, he spent time clearing his room from spiders and other vermin. Of course, he made sure no one was around to see or hear it. He wouldn’t give any of the faculty the satisfaction of watching an elf of his stature do something as measly as cleaning, but he also didn’t want to waste his energy on arguing with Mirabelle who would certainly object to the fashion he disposed of the mess that’d been left in his room. He’d found a hatch in the stairwell of the Hall of Countenance which proved to be the perfect dumping ground for the crates and its contents.

_Damned Breton hag…_ Ancano had scowled, certain Mirabelle would’ve had quite the laugh to see his fine, Thalmor uniform dripping and stained with the remnants of old magicka residue, rotten ingredients and old potions. But in the end, he’d succeeded in making his quarters proper enough for a somewhat pleasant and comfortable stay. To ensure it would remain so, he placed a few nasty hexes and wards on his door. As a result, strangely enough, students and staff gave his room a wide berth not long after and he no longer found any skeevers, spiders or other unpleasant surprises and smells in his room.  
   
Which was why he furrowed his brow when he heard something was thrown against his door. Judging by the sound of it, it had been a pebble that was sent ricocheting from the ward he’d raised. He intended to dismiss it when he heard another pebble skittering over the floor. Countless curses left his mouth and he threw the door to his room over. “ _What_?” he snapped. He’d expected to hear the sounds of students snickering as they scattered away to hide, but only saw Nirya stood nearby. She lowered her hand in which she held a pebble she’d been about to throw.  
   
Using a spell to detect life, he found that everyone was either sound asleep in their room or studying elsewhere so he and Nirya were alone for the moment. Her long, blonde hair held a blue hue from the central font’s light that illuminated the room. Ancano narrowed his eyes, still suspicious of her and whatever she intended. “Care to tell me what the meaning of this is?” Ancano asked in a tone that was menacing but calm.  
  
“Well, good evening to you too, Ancano,” she said with a raised chin, discarding the pebble casually. “I’d have knocked on your door but since this got your attention, it saved me the trouble of dealing with your wards.”  
  
_As if you could…_ He scowled, peering down at her past his hooked nose. “That doesn’t answer my question…Nirya, was it not?” He very well knew who she was. Whenever she thought he didn’t notice, she would be glancing his way.  
  
"Yes, Nirya, indeed. I believe we never got the chance to introduce ourselves to one another properly.” She came closer and the blue light made her hair shimmer and he saw she’d lined her eyes with coal. “I think I might have the information for you that my peers and fellow students have been reluctant to share with you.”  
   
He leaned back against the doorpost and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m listening…And do make it quick.”  
   
“Best we are discrete, don’t you think?” Nirya stroked his arm in passing, lingering in the doorway. He caught her steal a glimpse of his room.  
  
“Expected some kind of Thalmor grandeur, my dear?” He purred and he’d be lying if he didn’t enjoy watching the blood rise to the High Elf’s cheeks and how she failed to hide the shudder running down her spine.  
   
“If you ask me, the College is ready for a change of leadership…” Nirya completely ignored his question and she walked into his room. Mildly annoyed, Ancano followed her inside to close his journal and hide his recent reports beneath it. “After all, we shouldn’t be keeping secrets from one another if we hope to further our relation with the Dominion, don’t you think?”  
   
_You’re testing my patience with this ridiculous game of yours._ Words that were about to leave Ancano’s lips, but he restrained himself, even when Nirya invaded his personal space, placing her hand on his gloved one. Again, he shot her an icy glare and she took the hint, her lips curling into a strange smile.

“I was there at Saarthal when Cirilonde discovered the passage. Quite the odd figure, that one, ‘ _an enigma’,_ ” she scoffed, turning away from him briefly. “And of course there’s that Dark Elf that never leaves her side…Quite the unsavory type.” Nirya cleared her throat when Ancano raised a brow. “They found an…orb of some sort deep below Saarthal. I’ve seen it. From what I understood, this artefact is most ancient and powerful.” She inched closer to him again and he could smell the sweet perfume she wore. “They believe it to be the Eye of Magnus. Or that’s what they’ve taken to calling it-,”  
  
Ancano watched the excited shimmer in Nirya’s eyes when he cupped her chin, but her expression changed to one of pure terror when he suddenly grabbed a firm hold of her throat. Before she could even think of anything to do, he had already broken her connection to the arcane with a swift incantation and the High Elf ceased her struggle instantly. She could sense that the lightning crackling at the Thalmor’s fingertips was but a warning sign and it already hurt, singing the tips of her hair and the collar of her robe. “And _I_ believe you are wasting my time…”  
  
“Wait…” she squeaked, clawing at his gloved hands for air. “There’s more…! Cirilonde! She…”  
  
Nirya knew she had to be quick about it when he eased his grip on her throat ever so slightly. Just _what_ was his obsession with a measly apprentice that couldn’t even cast the simplest of destruction spells? “I know you’ve been looking for her. Cirilonde.” Nirya almost spat the name. She was furious that her plan had backfired on her and that Ancano’s interests clearly lay elsewhere. “You won’t find her here at the College or at Saarthal. She and that Dark Elf were sent away…They’re on an assignment for the Arch-Mage.”  
  
This definitely piqued his interest as he had not seen either of the two for the past days, so Nirya was definitely not spewing nonsense. But it deeply disturbed him the Arch-Mage had gone to such lengths to make sure he hadn’t caught a word of any of this, so he was purposely being kept out of the loop since the discovery of the orb. This could only mean one thing…  
  
He released Nirya, who reached for her sore throat right away, but she was still too frightened to move. “Get out.” Was all he said, and Nirya needn’t be told twice.  


* * *

 

  
If a cave or any sort of building had been abandoned for ages and lay in ruins, one could safely bet that this place was used by all kinds of unsavory folk to go about their practices undisturbed as the smart commoner would go at great lengths to avoid such a place.  
  
Fellglow Keep was no exception, located to the North-East of Whiterun in the mountain side above the White River. One would have to admit it was the perfect location as it was nowhere near the travelled roads, but provided a wide, open view of the surroundings.  
  
Water dripped down the fortress' interior walls, covered with mold and slime. Piles of debris and other garbage lay strewn around, mostly consisting of what remained of the rotten furniture, pots and empty bottles. Much to Mavus’ dismay, it didn’t stop the rats from scurrying all over the place in search of food.  
“Ellias.” The old Dark Elf raised his lantern and squinted his pale eyes to peer beyond the darkness to  the torch lit near a doorway to the left. When no response came, Mavus’ face grew even uglier as he scowled. “City boy!”  
  
Again. No response. _If that damn idiot fell asleep…_ Mavus swore under his breath. His knees weren’t what they used to be and the cold made his joints ache. The last thing he wanted to do right now was descend the treacherous steps, but _She_ had been clear and _She_ was not to be disobeyed. “Whip your arse…” the Dark Elf muttered, placing a hand on the wall for support as he carefully descended the steps.  
  
After catching his breath, Mavus made his way over to the doorway to the left. “Ellias, you wretched fetcher, I ought to rip your ears off since you don’t use them anyways. Where the-,”  
  
When he stepped into something wet, Mavus furrowed his brow and looked down. Had they not solved the flooding is…sue? In spite of not wanting to assume the worst, Mavus’ heart began to race when he moved the lantern to get a better look. He hadn’t stepped into a puddle of water, but blood. The lantern rattled in his unstable, trembling grasp as Mavus followed the trail of blood and he found Ellias lying hunched over a chair. The Breton’s expression was frozen in one of pain and horror. His throat had been ripped out. This could only mean one thing and Mavus turned to run as fast as his legs would allow but when he turned to flee, he froze as the torch on the wall extinguished with a loud hiss but without warning.  
  
The lantern fell from his hand to the ground. The glass shattered to pieces and for a brief moment, it was the only source of light for Mavus who stood frozen with fear, alone in the dark, staring at the red eyes before him.  
“G-Get away from me!” Mavus warned. “I’ll blast you to Oblivion if I have too!”  
  
When the pair of red eyes disappeared, Mavus spun around and jets of fire emanated from the palms of his hands. For a moment, there was nothing but silence and complete darkness. Just when Mavus thought that he had indeed scared the vampire off, assuming it’d had its fill, Mavus’ lips parted in a scream that never came as two, sharp and jagged blades pierced his lungs from behind. All he could do was stare up, helpless and left gaping as the vampire sank his teeth in his throat.  
  
“Ganir!” The vampire’s eyes went wide and Mavus’ lifeless body fell to the ground. In the doorway stood two High Elves, one a woman and another a miserable-looking, young man.  
  
“Ciri…I can explain!”  
  
“Auri-El…” Cirilonde ran a hand through her hair as she took a deep breath, looking at the gruesome scene before her. “Could you _not_ think with your stomach for a moment? We need to get out of here!”  
  
Both the men’s expressions were one of complete bewilderment and disbelief. “How did you-?”  
  
“Wait, so you knew he-?!”  
  
“Not the moment. We need to get out of here before they find out we’re here and get the books.” Cirilonde said. “It is this tower, right, Orthorn?”  
  
Orthorn, the young High Elf male, couldn’t tear his gaze from the two corpses or the vampire before him and swallowed. Just how had he gotten in from one deep mess into another?! “I…yes. Upstairs Tower hatch. Yes, this way, quick. She’ll be furious! We need to get out of here!”

The strange trio ran up the stairs as fast as they could. “I’m sorry, but I had to take them out, Ciri. But I swear, I would never-,”  
  
“Not now, Ganir.” Cirilonde snapped. Back at home and during her time at the Arcane University in Cyrodiil, she had dealt with plenty of renegade mages and necromancers. But she would be accompanied by experienced battlemages and conjurers who would clean out the worst mess while she dispelled and healed. Now, she only had the company of Ganir and Orthorn, the latter being the culprit to cause all this trouble to begin with.  
The less-than-competent mage had realized this as soon as he arrived at Fellglow Keep as the Summoners had imprisoned him, meaning to use him as a subject for their experiments. He had so fearfully told them all about it, but what Cirilonde was most worried about, was this Caller and right now, her priority was to get the books and make their escape as fast as possible and avoid any and all confrontation with this Caller or the Summoners who served her.  
  
The High Elves were out of breath by the time they made it all the way up the tower and made to open the door, only to find it was locked. “Step back,” she said to Ganir, who made to pick the lock and without warning a telekinetic blast blew the door open.  
  
“They’ll have heard that.” Ganir was clearly annoyed by her impulsive choice, but she ignored him completely, running inside. The room at the top of the tower had clearly been the central focal point of the whole operation and had been turned into a summoning room. The walls were stripped bare and chalk markings were all over the room. Candles were placed in specific spots and the books were laid out on standards.  
  
Cirilonde walked over to the stand with one of the books. “The Last King of the Ayleids…” she then looked at Orthorn and Ganir. “These are the books. Let’s get them and let’s get out of here!”  
  
She made to run across the room to get the other but a beam of black and blue light made her jump back and raise a ward with such speed and expertise even Ganir was impressed. When the light faded, he saw how Orthorn’s eyes went wide before his jaw visibly tightened and he clenched his hands into fists.  
Ganir locked his eyes onto the woman before Cirilonde, who was also a High Elf.  
  
He could not distinguish further details of her appearance as she was clad in hooded robes but she was poised and most graceful for someone who was clearly furious. Cirilonde’s eyes not once left the other woman’s, who had to be the Caller. “So, you’re the ones who barged into my home and laid waste to my projects...” Cirilonde saw no movement in her pupils but she could tell that the woman was completely aware of her surroundings. There would be no surprising her. A practiced smile made the Caller’s lips curl as she peered down at Cirilonde with the typical, High Elven disdainful politeness. “How nice to meet you. Now care to tell me what you think you’re doing?”  
  
“I assure you that we seek no quarrel with you,” Cirilonde said as calm as she could, but she did not lower her ward. “We came here to retrieve the books that belong to the College of Winterhold.”  
  
“So you’re just one of Aren’s lackeys?” The Caller sounded downright disappointed. “And that while you show such promise!” She gestured at the tower as a whole. “You come here, kill my assistants, disrupt my work…For some books?”  
  
“Believe me, if your ‘assistants’ had not been so hostile to begin with, we wouldn’t have resorted to such measures.” Cirilonde made no understatement, the sleeves of her robes singed and there was a hole at her side where a shard of ice had missed her by mere inches. Orthorn had shot to her aid by strangling the mage from his cage, from behind with his belt. “If you just give us the books…”  
  
“ _I_ don’t think I’ll be giving you anything after the trouble you’ve caused.” The Caller had not raised her voice but it held such sudden strength even Cirilonde grew a bit frightened. “But perhaps, even after destroying so much, we can come to an arrangement. Leave me the elf and you may go with your books.”  
  
Orthorn froze at Ganir’s side, fearfully glancing up at the Dark Elf who did not look back. “Y-You wouldn’t…?”  
The young High Elf shrieked in horror, fearing the Dark Elf was going to sink his claws and teeth into his neck, but instead found that Ganir shielded him from harm’s way as the room filled with a bright flash of light.

Cirilonde had cast a blinding spell in the hopes of disorienting the Caller long enough to gather the books and make a run for it, but she was slammed against the wall by a frost Atronach. The Caller laughed as the candles around the room were swallowed by bright-red flames.  
  
“Ganir! Orthorn!” Cirilonde shrieked, her eyes wide in horror. “RUN!”  
  
But as much as Ganir and Orthorn willed their bodies to move, they couldn’t, before they were thrown against the wall by the sheer might of the Caller’s will, whose maniacal laughter filled the room. Cirilonde’s ears rang and with great difficulty, she managed to find her focus for long enough to dispel the Frost Atronach that was charging towards her. She fell to the ground and to her knees, grasping her head with both hands.  
  
“Did you honestly think that you could stand against the power I wield?!” The whole tower shook around the Caller, whose eyes gleamed with madness. “I won’t just have them rip you apart, I’ll have them rape you until there’s nothing left and you’ll _beg_ for death!”  
  
Cirilonde felt the blood pour from her nostrils and ears as the intense pressure and whirl of magicka under the Caller’s control beat down on her. She couldn’t even tell if Ganir or Orthorn were even still here or alive and it took every bit of her willpower to focus.  
  
“Pray all you like, girl!” The Caller laughed. Behind her, a black mass began to crackle with fire and brimstone. A portal to Oblivion.  
  
But rather than gasp or look on in horror, Cirilonde staggered to her feet as she raised a ward and began to incant. Rather than melodious, her voice grew strong and fierce, the words commanding and powerful. The magical storm that engulfed the tower trembled and its energy distorted.  
The Caller laughed and an unseen battle of magical will and control ensued, but even though she stood on shaking feet, Cirilonde held and pressed on until the Caller fell to her knees and all went silent.  
  
The portal behind the Caller rippled menacingly in the brief moment of silence and the two High Elf women met eyes for a brief moment. Cirilonde looked like a right mess with the blood staining her face and robes but in spite of all that, there was a most satisfied grin on her face.  
  
The Caller’s eyes went wide and terrified, she slowly looked behind her, over her shoulders, as a deep, menacing and cold growl emanated from the portal. She then looked back at Cirilonde, who then finished the incantation without hesitation. The Caller dove forward, shrieking and crying out her curses, but wicked, dark and clawed tendrils shot forth from the portal and she was dragged inside.  
  
Cirilonde remained on her feet until she was certain the portal was closed. Ganir was just in time to catch her. He looked behind him when he heard another thud. Orthorn had passed out as well. “Great…” **  
  
**  
  
By the time Cirilonde woke, it was dawn and she sat up. Orthorn was still sound asleep, snoring so loud it was a surprise she had not woken sooner. Ganir sat nearby on a rock, carving animals from wood and he had looked up the moment she stirred. There was a moment of silence as the High Elf got her bearings and looked around after rubbing the sand out of her eyes..  
  
They had made a camp near a shrine of Talos that was particularly well-hidden behind the rock formations and bushes to the east of Whiterun. She sat up and felt safe, huddling closer to the small fire. “When did you figure it out?” Ganir asked after a moment, having clearly struggled to ask the question.  
  
“A while back I had suspicions.” Cirilonde answered. “Then I paid closer attention and it was rather obvious. If you’d really been the wrong sort of them, you would’ve been reduced to a pile of ashes by now, don’t you think? I _trust_ you, Ganir. You’re my friend.”  
  
Another moment of silence followed as the Dark Elf wasn’t certain of what to say. The both of them looked over to Orthorn, who was still quite sound asleep. “I didn’t have the heart to leave the s’wit wandering off and about by himself. He’d get himself killed in no time by poking his nose in a mudcrab nest or something.”  
  
Cirilonde snorted rather uncharismatically. “A better fate than any if Urag were to get his hands on him. He got _livid_ by the mere mention of the whole theft incident.”  
  
“Speaking of incidents,” Ganir reached into the bag next to him on the ground. “While you were out, I had a look at the books. Didn’t get why they were so important until I started reading this one…”  
  
Cirilonde took the copy of _Night of Tears_ from him and opened the book where he’d left a branch between t he pages. Her eyes scanned the page and read aloud, “ _Saarthal holds a prominent place in Skyrim history, even if most do not remember it by name. It is of course the site of one of the first major Nord settlements…”_ Cirilonde’s eyes were glued to the pages as her memory soaked in each and every, single word. _“It was also the sight of terrible bloodshed, when the elves attempted to drive the Nords out of Skyrim, to succeed only in incurring their wrath in the form of Ysgramor and his fabled Fivehundred Companions, who swept the elves from Skyrim and firmly established it as the home of the Nords….Wht happened on that Night of Tears, when Saarthal was razed to the ground? What provoked the elves to such a deliberate, vicious attack, and what prompted such a severe response from the Nords? Vingalmo’s Treatise on the Altmer Antecedent suggest that the elves of the Merethic Era….The Nords found something when they built their city, buried deep in the ground. They attempted to keep it buried, but the Elves learned of it and coveted it for themselves..”  
  
_ When Orthorn stirred, Ganir and Cirilonde met eyes, completely understanding one another. Without saying a word, Cirilonde got up and walked over to the nearby river to wash herself while Ganir packed. When she returned, Orthorn was awake and he looked rather miserable.  
  
“I don’t suppose you want me to go back to the College with you either?” he asked defeatedly. “I know I was wrong, I really do and I’m sorry, but…”  
  
“I don’t doubt you’re sorry for a moment,” Cirilonde’s voice held a gentle tone. “But I suggest you lie low elsewhere for the time being so this all blows over. I’ll make sure to put in a good word for you with Urag.”  
  
“I owe you my life. Divines know what they would’ve done to me if you hadn’t come.” Orthorn looked over to Fellglow Keep, of which only its tower was visible from their current vantage point. “Just how did you do it? I thought we were done for.”  
  
Cirilonde smiled. “I suggest you study to find out. You’ll have plenty of time for that.” She climbed onto Fiona’s back and patted the mare’s neck. “But we must return to the College now. Perhaps we’ll meet again.”  
  
“Thank you, again. Stendarr be with you and farewell,” said Orthorn and with that, they parted ways.  
  
Renewed with energy and the desire to return to what they now knew to be their home, Ganir and Cirilonde rode for as long and as fast as they and their mounts could manage. By nightfall, they were close to Windhelm and Ganir took Fiona’s reins so Cirilonde could rest. But for some reason, as tired and sore as she was, she would open her eyes again almost as soon as she’d closed them in an attempt to fall asleep.  
  
“Is something bothering you?” Ganir asked, having noticed.  
  
“I don’t know…” Cirilonde let out a frustrated groan, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It just doesn’t sit well with me. How is it that Saarthal wasn’t unearthed sooner given the history surrounding it?”  
  
“Give it a few centuries and they’ll say the same of Vivec,” Ganir said dryly. “Locations get lost over time. You know what the books said. The Merethic Era. Any idea how long ago that was?”  
  
“Yes, but Vivec didn’t house what could possibly be a powerful artefact.” Cirilonde argued. “And Vivec didn’t have to worry about a prying, Thalmor agent.”  
  
“I get why you’re worried,” Ganir assured her. “But I’m sure that the College will keep that Orb at Saarthal and Ancano at the College.”

By the break of dawn, the pair approached the broken walls and gate of Winterhold. The streets were quiet and deserted, which wasn’t that unusual given that Winterhold was more of a ghost town. It was when they approached the bridge to the College that the horses bristled and halted in their steps, protesting against continuing. Cirilonde and Ganir tensed the very moment the sensation gripped them as well as if it gripped their stomachs with an icy hand. “What…is _that_?” Ganir asked.  
  
"They brought it here…Auri-El why have they brought it here?” Cirilonde’s mind reeled to comprehend the Arch-Mage’s reasoning to allow the Orb to be taken to the College. It just simply couldn’t bode well. Because the horses refused to carry on, the two of them had to dismount and guide and coax the horses across the bridge by walking ahead of them and holding onto the reins.  
   
Once they made it to the courtyard, they secured the horses in the small stable and ran into the Hall of Elements. Rather than completely empty and abandoned this early in the morning, Cirilonde and Ganir were surprised to find that a majority of the student body had gathered here to behold the much discussed discovery from Saarthal.  
  
The Orb floated in the center of the Hall of Elements above the central font. Now that it wasn’t surrounded by the chaotic, whirling energy, it was more clear to distinguish its appearance. The orb’s multi-facetted and smooth surface showed the night sky. Glowing, circular lines ran in patterns along its surface along with intricate markings that held an ominous, teal glow.  
  
A freezing, cold chill ran down Cirilonde’s spine and she turned to Ganir. “Stay on the lookout for Ancano. I’ll find Master Urag and return the books to him. He’ll know more.”  
   
Ganir stowed himself away in an alcove from where he had a good vantage point over both the Hall of Elements and the Entry Hall. His eyes scanned the many heads and faces in the hopes of finding Ancano amongst them, but after a small half hour or so, Ancano entered the Hall of Elements. The Dark Elf narrowed his eyes when the Thalmor didn’t even pay the Orb any heed and headed straight towards the steps leading to the Arcaneum.  
  
Ganir swept from the shadows and followed Ancano’s footsteps without hesitation. The High Elf had barely made his way up the steps when Ganir grabbed him from behind. Ancano must have had eyes in the back of his head as he retaliated as though he’d expected Ganir, whirling around to strike him with a spell, but Ganir ducked and punched the High Elf in his gut, knocking the wind out of the High Elf. He then shoved the High Elf against the wall, holding his dagger against the Thalmor’s throat and he twisted an arm behind his back.  
  
“How _dare_ you!” Ancano hissed, ceasing his struggle not because the dagger’s blade menacingly pricked his skin, but because he smelled the blood in the Dark Elf’s breath. Though his expression bore one of seething fury, Ganir could tell he was also afraid. “What do you want from me, you cur?”  
  
“Don’t worry, I think you know very well that if I wanted you dead, you would’ve been so already.” Ganir confirmed Ancano’s reasoning, who glared at the Dark Elf over his shoulder as far as he was permitted. ”So tell me where you think you’re going?”  
  
“When I get my hands on the both of you-!” Ancano failed to suppress a hiss of pain when Ganir dug his claws into the Thalmor’s arm. The High Elf conceded with a growl, knowing it was best to cooperate. “Not that it’s any of your business but I was to retrieve your friend and if she doesn’t make things too difficult-,”  
   
Ancano howled when Ganir pressed the High Elf against the wall while pulling his arm back even further. One tug or wrong move and Ganir would dislocate the Thalmor’s shoulder. Lightning instinctively crackled from Ancano’s fingertips as a warning that he _would_ retaliate. “I have no intention of hurting her. You CUR!” he snarled, furious that he was at Ganir’s mercy, who was physically stronger than him by a manifold due his vampirism.  
  
“If you don’t want to hurt her, then what is it you want from her?” Ganir growled, glaring back at the Thalmor with equal, burning hatred.  
  
“Not that it is any of your business, but the Arch-Mage wishes to see her.” Ancano answered.  
  
As much as Ganir wanted to believe otherwise, Ancano _was_ telling the truth, he could tell. With a violent jerk, he tore away from Ancano, throwing him to the ground, up the steps. The High Elf recovered with surprising grace, holding on to his sore arm. “I’m warning you, _mongrel_ …” Ancano snarled at the shadows ahead of him, ready to strike in case Ganir reconsidered. “If any harm befalls me the College will answer for it. So if you value your precious little friends here, you watch your step.”  
_  
_ As the Thalmor made his way up the stairs, his lips curled into a smug smirk when he heard a frustrated, beast-like snarl emit from the shadows. _That’s right, you cur, remember who you are dealing with._ But the High Elf would keep glancing over his shoulder every few steps or so…just to be sure.  
  
_That’s right, scum._ Ganir balled his hands into fists. _You watch your back._

Cirilonde was completely unaware of the skirmish between the two elves in the stairwell as she had rushed up the stairs to the Arcaneum. Once there, she kept her eyes open and her guard up to make sure Ancano was nowhere to be seen and couldn’t take her by surprise like he had done previously.  
   
“Urag!” she called out in a whisper, not wanting to antagonize the Orc, who was notorious for his morning mood. After looking around, she found the Orc standing on a ladder, sorting rare tomes in alphabetical order on the dusted shelves of an antique bookcase. “Oh it’s so good to see you.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “Is Ancano anywhere around? I’ve got the books.”  
  
“Not since I threatened to have my Atronachs escort him out,” Urag said, but he peered around cautiously nevertheless before he got down the ladder. “But you got the books?”  
   
“Yes, I have, yet, I was hoping you’d perhaps know…” She handed him the Night of Tears last, opening it on the same page as Ganir had shown her. The old Orc placed a pair of spectacles on his large, wide and flat nose and read the pages with surprising swiftness…for an Orc. “Don’t you think it’s odd that whatever happened at Saarthal, or whatever was found, was never specified? That no one looked into this at all?”

“Well, it takes no Arch-Mage to figure out what _‘it’_ was.” Urag replied dryly, but not as disturbed or worried as Cirilonde was. He handed her _Night of Tears_ again and gave her a look. “I suggest you take this up with Master Tolfdir. I’m sure he can enlighten you further. He’s in the Hall of Elements with the Orb…like the rest of the students.”  
   
"Just what were they even thinking bringing that thing here?!” Cirilonde exclaimed her frustrations once more, which only grew worse as no one seemed to be as worried about it as she was. “Especially with Ancano on the prowl-,”  
  
“Look, girl, I’m thankful that you returned the books for me, but don’t go about disrespecting Savos. He knows what he’s doing.” Urag said in a stern tone. “Yes, he’s not perfect, but he has that big-nosed bat under control.”  
  
“I…I meant no disrespect,” Cirilonde bit back further words and her frustration. No one was going to be listening to her. “Thank you for your help, Master Urag. I’ll be on my way.”  
  
Cirilonde stowed the book away in her bag and as she passed a bookcase, she missed Ancano by just, who had just entered and passed the bookcase on the other side. Neither of them saw each other, both of them too preoccupied with their minds to notice each other.  
  
_Just why is no one listening to me? Has everyone gone mad?! Surely this can’t end well!_ But then, her conscience reasoned. _Maybe I am fretting and overthinking this way too much…  
  
_ When she made her way down to the Hall of Elements, she walked up to Ganir, who seemed rather surprised to see her. _Had Ancano even gotten a hold of her?_ He wondered, but decided not to ask. She looked stressed out enough as it were and having spent some time down here, studying the Orb from a distance. He slowly began to understand Cirilonde’s concerns. The orb intrigued him, but he wasn’t too keen on getting too close.  
   
“No sign of Ancano?” Cirilonde asked. When Ganir shook his head, she seemed a bit more at ease. “Have you seen Tolfdir anywhere? Urag said he’s in there somewhere.” Cirilonde tip-toed to glance over the many heads in the hopes of spotting the old Nord.  
  
“He should be in the back somewhere, I saw him there earlier,” Ganir replied. “I’ll wait here to stay on the lookout.”  
  
She nodded and went off, initially only pushing her way through the small of students in search of Tolfdir, but the closer she got to the orb, the harder it got for her to focus. She looked up at the Orb that seemed to gaze back at her, its invasive energy seemingly intent on probing her mind.  
  
“Ah, Cirilonde, child, it is so good to see you!” The old Nord tore the High Elf from her ruminations. “I was wondering when you would come to have a look. I’ve not seen you a few days. Mirabelle said you were indisposed, but it’s good to see you’re back.”  
  
“Why thank you, Master Tolfdir I’m terribly sorry for missing out on some of our seminars.” Cirilonde wasn’t sure if the Nord knew anything of her mission at all, but decided not to press it for now. “If you don’t mind, however, would you happen to have a moment for me, perhaps?”  
   
“But of course!” the old Nord smiled. “Now if you’ll excuse me students, I believe I’ve answered plenty of questions for now. I suggest you all get back to your regular schedules again.”  
  
Tolfdir led her away from the students’ prying eyes and ears, who of course were most curious about this new student who had been a big part of this discovery whether it was by accident or not. “I recommend discretion, child. Eyes and ears are everywhere. I hope you’ve not run into Ancano?”  
  
Cirilonde shook her head. “Trust me, though, I’ve not been away without good reason. Does this book perhaps ring you a bell?” The High Elf handed Tolfdir the book and then glared up at the Orb. The energy it emanated was giving her a headache. “With all due respect, though, Master Tolfdir, but…this Orb…” Cirilonde bit her tongue, fearing that voicing her concerns would warrant the same response as Urag had given her. _And,_ her conscience reasoned. _Maybe you should just leave it be._ “Would you…happen to have discovered anything yet about the Orb? I know you must have had tons of questions already, but…”  
  
“It is no problem at all, dear.” Tolfdir was practically beaming. “I was so relieved when the Arch-Mage gave permission to let us take it here. The journey back and forth would have just been too much. But I’ll gladly share my observations with you. After all, you were the one to discover it!”  
  
“I’d gladly hear all about your observations, Master Tolfdir,” she said, deciding that if something truly were wrong, the Arch-Mage would’ve intervened already.  
  
"Now, you weren’t here when we transported it here, but we’ve decided to call this ‘Orb’ the Eye of Magnus. It is unlike _anything_ I have ever seen in my lifetime, nor has anything like it ever been unearthed or recorded in history as far as we know.” Tolfdir could barely contain his excitement as he spoke. “Aside from the mysterious nature of its material, which we have yet to figure out how to analyze, there’s the writings. We’ve compared them to Elven, Ayleid, Dwemer, Daedric and even Falmer, but no match, which is most puzzling and intruiging at the same time. The Arch-Mage-,”  
  
Cirilonde’s whole body went rigid, startled when someone suddenly grabbed a firm hold of her shoulder and she took a sharp breath when she saw it was Ancano. Her eyes shot towards the Entry Hall, wondering why Ganir had not warned her. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen and judging by the smug smirk on the Thalmor’s lips, he had something to do with it. But before she could ask, protest, or whisk his hand off her, he tightened his grip as a warning. Tolfdir had turned around, having noticed right away that Cirilonde had frozen in her steps along with how the students began to whisper amongst each other. The whole atmosphere in the room grew tense.  
  
“Ancano. What exactly is the meaning of this sudden intrusion?” Tolfdir asked as polite as he could manage.  
  
“It is urgent that I speak with this associate of yours immediately,” Ancano replied, glaring back at the old Nord.  
   
"Well I never-! Can’t this wait, Ancano? We are involved in serious research here!” Tolfdir protested. “Has Mirabelle not been clear enough with you the last time?”  
“I don’t believe I answer to her, or you, for that matter.” Ancano sneered. “But I’ll have you know the request came from the Arch-Mage. When this matter is resolved, you can return to your petty little research.”  
  
But Cirilonde did not only dislike Ancano’s tone of voice, but also the way he glanced up at the Eye of Magnus, as he spoke. Tolfdir grit his teeth, clearly frustrated but then apologetic towards Cirilonde. “I’m sure we can continue at a later time, child, when we are not interrupted.” He shot a pointed glare at the Thalmor, who couldn’t care less as he guided Cirilonde away from the Hall of Elements. For a moment, she feared he was going to take her elsewhere, but once they walked down the hallway towards the Arch-Mage’s tower, she felt reassured and confident enough to speak up.  
   
“If you’re quite done…” she tore her shoulders from his grasp. “What have you done to Ganir and where is he? And what is this all about that you’re taking me to the Arch-Mage?”  
   
“Your ‘friend’ as you call him, is fine. I merely taught him a lesson in manners and respect. Something I suggest you start showing as well as I can make your life quite difficult for you.” Ancano was not making empty threats, Cirilonde knew that well enough. “Now, let me clarify that the Arch-Mage and I would _love to know_ why someone is here at the College, claiming to be from the Psijic Order, asking for _you_ specifically. So, we’re going to have a little chat with him and found out what it is he wants.”  
  
"And how would any of this concern you?” Cirilonde spat in a venomous tone. She had enough of being pushed around and threatened by him. “The College is a neutral organization.”  
  
“And by the grace of the Dominion, it remains so for now...” Ancano replied haughtily. “Unless there is reason for us to suspect that the College collaborates with a rogue organization such as the Psijic Order who believes themselves to be above the laws of any ‘empire’. They have clashed with the Aldmeri Dominion before and I won’t tolerate any of that happening here. So this does concern me very much, my superiors even more so.”  
  
The Psijic Order had made their home on the Isle of Artaeum of the Summerset Isles, but the island had disappeared well over a hundred years ago without a trace. Just why would they risk coming all the way here for her? And what for? Well, she needn’t really guess. But just how were they going to deal with Ancano? She’d have to figure this out as she went.  
  
“Good.” Ancano sneered, judging by her expression he’d made himself clear. “You can return to your ‘research’ afterwards. I want you to speak to this monk and find out why he is here and what he wants. I might just even forget about any of your, or that Ashlander’s transgressions for the time being.”  
   
“How considerate of you.” Cirilonde sneered back, “Though I believe I’m quite capable of navigating there myself.”  
  
With that she spun on her heel to march up the steps to the Arch-Mage’s Quarters. This bought her enough time to calm herself down some. This was _not_ going to end well. This _was_ going to spiral out of control and there was not going to be anything she could do about it, was there? But Ancano caught up with her soon enough and she had to compose herself. Before she could even knock on the door, the door opened and she made her way in, followed shortly by Ancano.  
Savos Aren stood waiting near his desk with another man, a High Elf, who was clad in the same style of robes like she’d seen on the ‘appearance’ in Saarthal. The High Elf’s robes were golden-yellow, white and red. An ornate, heavy-looking belt rested on his hips and he wore a pair of dark-green, woolen pants.  
   
"Now, here she is. I want you to-,"  
  
The surge came without warning, but it wasn’t as unpleasant as it had been the last time. Time froze all over and for the first time, the thought crossed Cirilonde’s mind that perhaps even the Psijic could be as dangerous as Ancano had made them out to be. Capable of making an island disappear and freezing time was no magic to make or think light of.  
  
And they had some serious explaining to do for involving her in this whole mess. “It’s good to see you in person, Lady Valanocke,” said the monk with a pleasant, sincere smile. “As you no doubt know, of course, we mean you no harm. I but wish to talk to you.” He pulled his hood back along with the sleeves of his robe to show his face and that he was unarmed. Most of his head was shaven, save for the strands at the center that were braided together. His face was long and his jawline angular, emphasized by the trimmed beard and moustache. “I understand why you may be upset, but I’ve given us a chance to speak privately for as long as I can manage, which isn’t long. We _must_ be brief. The situation here at your College is of dire importance, and attempts to contact you as we have previously, have failed. I believe it is due the very source of our concerns. This object...The _Eye of Magnus_ as your people have taken to calling it. The energy coming from it has prevented us from reaching you with the visions you have already seen. The longer it remains here, the more dangerous the situation becomes. And so I have come here personally to tell you it must be dealt with."  
  
"You’re telling me all this without even so much as introducing yourself,” Cirilonde said sharply. “And you’re coming all the way here to warn me of a danger I’m already fully aware of? What exactly are you expecting _me_ to do while you are clearly more qualified and able to handle this?” _  
_  
The monk was rather taken aback by her sharp tone and he cleared his throat. “Apologies. The name is Quaranir. It was my associate, Nerien, who warned you in Saarthal. In regards to handling this whole matter, it is not that simple.” Quaranir began to pace back and forth, his furrowed brow beading with sweat as he concentrated deeply. The effects of maintaining this rift in time no doubt was wearing down on him the hardest. “My presence alone is already seen as an affront to some within the Order as we do not typically…intervene directly in events. As soon as we have finished, I will be leaving your College with haste. I’m all too aware my arrival has aroused suspicion, especially in Ancano, your Thalmor associate here.”  
  
She watched him pace around Ancano, who stood helplessly frozen in time, completely unaware of this whole conversation.  
  
“I hope that answers your question that the Psijic Order cannot, and will not act directly. You must take it upon yourself to do so.”  
   
Countless thoughts shot through Cirilonde’s mind, but her eyes narrowed with distrust. She wasn’t about to admit Ancano was right as his lot was just as bad if not worse, but none of this sat well with her either. "So...What exactly is the problem you keep mentioning?"  
"As you may have learned, this object...The Eye...is immensely powerful. The world is not ready for it. If it remains here, it will be misused. Indeed, many in the Order believe it has already...Rather, something will happen soon, something that cannot be avoided."  
  
"What do you expect from me then?" Cirilonde’s eyes began to tear up because the pressure of time was beginning to take a toll on her. Just how did Quaranir manage to do this?  
  
"Unfortunately, the future is as obscured to us as it is to you. The overwhelming power of the Eye makes it difficult for us to see. I fear I have already overstepped the bounds of my Order, but I will offer this: seek out the Augur of Dunlain here in your College. His perception may be more coherent than ours."  
  
"The Augur of Dunlain?" Cirilonde had  _never_  heard of anything or anyone like this.  
  
"I cannot hold for much longer, so listen.” Quaranir said. “He was once a student here. He still is. Of sorts. He is somewhere here in the College. One of your colleagues _must_ know of his whereabouts. I’m sorry I cannot help you any further but this…” He gestured at their surroundings in reference to the rift. “It requires a great deal of effort on my part…So I’m afraid I must leave you now. We will continue to watch over you and guide you as best we can but it is within you to succeed. Never forget that.”

Without warning, Quaranir released his hold on time and the moment Cirilonde felt the ripple, she mentally and physically prepared herself for it as fast as she could. But Quaranir was clearly more versed in the art of chronomancy and she only stumbled back a bit just as Ancano stormed past her.  
   
"-to tell me this instant what business you have here." Ancano blinked, as did Savos. The both of them were confused as they returned to the flow of time again and were briefly overwhelmed with a most odd sensation. Something had happened, but what? "Well...” Ancano’s nostrils flared as he glared at the monk. “What is the meaning of this?"  
  
"I'm sorry...I'm afraid I don't understand." Quaranir lied.  
  
Ancano glanced over his shoulder to give Cirilonde a sharp look, but as far as he knew, she was just as disoriented as he and Savos had been. “Don’t play coy,” he warned. “You asked to see a specific member of the College. Here she is. Now what is it that you want?”  
   
"As I’ve come to understand, I clearly should not be here,” Quaranir apologized. “This is all a great misunderstanding and I shall simply take my leave.”  
  
" _What_? What trickery is this? You're not going  _anywhere_  until I find out what you're up too. you specifically asked for a member of the College. Here she is, and now you're telling me there's 'some sort' of misunderstanding?" Ancano took a step forward to the monk, who raised his hands to halt the Thalmor.  
  
“Ancano. Just let it be…Please…” The Arch-Mage had gotten pale as snow and Cirilonde hurried to his side to help him sit down in a chair. “Let him be on his way…Escort him off the grounds.”  
  
There was a thick, static tension in the air between the Psijic Monk and the Thalmor agent. “I assure you, I _will_ get to the bottom of this…” he threatened in a barely audible whisper. “This way…”  
  
Cirilonde was thankful that Ancano seemed to have completely forgotten about her and focused her full attention on the Arch-Mage and her inner turmoil of emotions. She had come all the way to Skyrim in the hopes of escaping a marriage for as long as possible and stay out of trouble, only to get into something way over her head. She was angry, frustrated, worried and afraid, but right now, the Arch-Mage seemed to require her attention and care more than she did. “Are you all right, Arch-Mage?” she asked. The impact of the rift in time could’ve very well had worse after effects on him. The Dark Elf looked nauseous and dizzy. “Can I get you anything?”  
  
"Water...Please." The old Dunmer took slow and deep breaths to regain his composure while Cirilonde fetched him some water and poured him a goblet from a crystal carafe. With trembling hands, he drank, appreciating the young Altmer’s gentle care. “I…I’m not even sure what happened. He came here and asked for you. Ancano went to retrieve you, and in you came, but the next thing I know…I just don’t remember. Just what happened?”  
   
Cirilonde hesitated, biting her lip and with a defeated sigh, she ran a hand through her hair, deciding she could at least try. Perhaps he would listen and so she told Savos everything that had happened in Saarthal, about the warning she had received from Nerien and how they had discovered the Eye. Mid-way, she stopped however. As attentive as the Arch-Mage had listened, it was clear all this had taken a great deal out of him. She gently laid a hand on his. “Sir…I know you must be tired, but before I leave you alone, I wanted to ask if you knew anything about this thing…or person. The Augur of Dunlain.”  
   
When the Dunmer heaved an agitated sigh, she feared for a moment she had crossed a line, but he then waved a dismissive hand. “I wish Tolfdir knew better by now than let these subjects be brought to the attention of students. I repeatedly made it clear to him that it was inappropiate for casual conversation, especially with, no offence, such young students such as yourself.” The Arch-Mage got to his feet. “Please remind him of this. If you don’t mind, I have some matters to attend too.”  
  
“Yes, of course, Arch-Mage. I’m sorry for disturbing you, but thank you for your help.” Much to her frustration, Cirilonde concluded from this that she was on her own with Ganir and anyone who didn’t seem to be completely be losing their minds.


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And shit hits the fan...
> 
>  
> 
> "I don't know...Ancano is doing something with that...that thing. The Eye..." Mirabelle suddenly only now seemed to come too her senses. "We can't stop him!" She looked around in panic. "Savos! Where is Savos? SAVOS!"

**  
Chapter 8**

Cirilonde had just left the Arch-Mage's Quarters and leaned against the wall. Her fingers tenderly rubbed her sensitive temples. Her head had begun to ache more and she had no idea to start. _I better find Ganir…  
  
_ She found the Dark Elf in his room with a bag of ice on his head. He wasn’t pleased and waved a dismissive hand when she made to ask what had happened. "Before you ask, the fetcher paralyzed me and threw me in the n'chow broom closet of all things. Hit my head on the shelf in the process. Yes. It hurts." Cirilonde gestured for him to pull the bag of ice away and after she had a look, she cast a healing spell on the cut.  
  
"Good thing you're already living impaired,” she snorted. “That could've hurt you quite badly."  
  
"Very funny." He grumbled, but then shrugged. "Though I suppose I earned it because I almost dislocated his shoulder and held a dagger to his back while we had a little chat."  
  
"You did  _what_?!" She had smacked him over the head before she even realized she had done so, startling herself. Yet, she was still angry he would antagonize someone who could be incredibly dangerous. "You fool!"  
  
"I was trying to protect you!" Ganir snapped in his defense. "But I see he found you anyway. What did the Arch-Mage want?"  
  
Cirilonde sat down next to him on the bed with a sigh. "We are in big trouble. With all this commotion, I need to find a suitable moment to speak with Master Tolfdir, but he's either been surrounded by students or at Saarthal like now." She then looked at him. " We need to keep a close eye on Ancano. This whole situation has alerted him and now that this Psijic Monk showed up, he'll be ever more watchful. We'll need to lie low until I can approach Tolfdir safely."  
  
Ganir looked at his hands after removing the bag of ice and he had clearly been contemplating what he was about to say, though he was hesitant about it. "Ciri...I really don't like where any of this is going. Maybe it's best we leave."  
  
"If we walk away from this, we'll keep walking and it's all we...well,  _I_  have done ever since I got here!"  
  
"This isn't our problem, Ciri." He looked away from her green eyes that showed she was hurt and disappointed.  
   
"It  _is_ my concern, Ganir. If you wish to walk away, then do so, but you can't run from the fact you're Dragonborn." Cirilonde wasn't sure why but she didn't want to leave.  
  
Ganir ran a hand through his thick, black mane of hair and winced when he hit the tender spot where she'd just smacked him. "I...I didn't come to Skyrim to dive in from one hell to another, and I've been there for a while. I came here to find a cure. Maybe live a normal life, grow old and maybe at last die peacefully." He shook his head. "I'm tired of it. I've seen enough death and if we stick around, it will all happen again. I don't want to lose you too."  
  
"Ganir..." Cirilonde reached for his face and made him look at her. She had never, even one moment, thought about him, or how he felt. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea...Please, tell me."  
  
He chuckled bitterly. "You sure you want to hear an old man's story?" When she nodded, he squeezed her hand in appreciation and then pondered. "Where to begin...? I was born in the Third Era with a father unknown to me and my mother but a mere, lowly servant. I got by, until I stole from the wrong person; Dunsalipal Dun-Ahne, the Morag Tong Master Assassin of the Sadrith More chapter..."  
  
Ganir told Cirilonde how Dunsalipal had taken him in and trained Ganir into a skilled assassin over the course of the years. It all went awry when a House Telvanni Wizard Lord hired the Morag Tong, and Ganir was given the writ, to assassinate a certain 'Nerevarine' who sought to become the Hortator of all Morrowind Great Houses.   
  
It went awry, as the Dark Brotherhood was after the Nerevarine as well. Ganir got caught in a skirmish with the Dark Brotherhood assassin and the Nerevarine got away. When Ganir returned to Sadrith Mora, he found the Morag Tong guild hall burnt to ashes and his mother hanging dead from a tree.  
  
Intent on revenge, he went to Cyrodiil where the Dark Brotherhood had a strong hold, but apparently the Dark Brotherhood had expected his coming and after probably bribing the city guard, Ganir got imprisoned and would be executed no doubt, but one night, the Emperor came to his cell. Cirilonde listened to his tale, her breath taken away. He was the Hero of Kvatch!  
  
"In the aftermath of the crisis, all I wanted was to get away and find some peace, but the Dark Brotherhood found me. Vicente gave me the 'gift' of eternal life, assuming I would bleed to death."  
  
There was a brief silence, until Cirilonde wiped some strands from his face. She had read all about the Oblivion Crisis. There had been so much death in the wake of the invading Daedra. "I had no idea. I'm sorry. I've thanked you, but not once considered you since we got here. I'm a terrible friend."  
  
"You're not. I just wanted you to understand." He stood up. "I will do this. I will help you. But I will not involve myself with this Dragonborn business. The sooner that Eye is gone, the better we can focus on finding a cure."  
  
"That's okay. Thank you." The Dark Elf was quite taken aback when she held him, but he returned the embrace with a chuckle. "And we'll find it."  
  
  
Cirilonde held up to her promise and between classes, she tried to delve further into researching vampires and a potential cure, but she found it incredibly hard to focus as she felt so tired, drained and the headache just wouldn't go away. Even after casting a healing spell, it wasn't long before it would return again. She also noticed quite the change in Ancano's behavior and pattern, or rather, she hardly saw him. From what she and Ganir had gathered, he kept to himself in his room and was studying the Eye of Magnus late at night. But anything between the times where he was seen and known to be, he would be gone for hours, nowhere to be found on College grounds until he would randomly appear in the Hall of Countenance or the Arcaneum, muttering to himself.  
  
Cirilonde realized that time was growing more and more of the essence as the Eye was affecting everyone. People were tired, irritable and had trouble focusing if not completely enthralled with the damned object. When she saw Tolfdir enter the Hall of Elements, she got up and walked away from Collete Maren's Restoration class after excusing herself.  
  
"Master Tolfdir, it is urgent I speak with you." she said.  
  
"I just got back from Saarthal, dear. I am rather tired." Tolfdir indeed looked like he was about to fall asleep, his eyes looked like they were about to fall shut and there were dark rings under them.  
  
"You've been telling me this for days," she glared at him. "I  _need_  to know about the Augur of Dunlain."  
  
Tolfdir let out an uncharacteristic, irritated sigh. "You won't give up, will you?  
  
"The Arch-Mage will have my head, but...The Augur of Dunlain can be found in the Midden, below the College. He was once a student, but an unfortunate incident left him nor dead or alive, but still he's here."  
  
"Where is this...Midden?" she really didn't want to press Tolfdir too much, but she had too.  
  
"There's a hatch to it under the stairwell in the Hall of Countenance. Stay away from the Labyrinth...a story for another time, and stick to the path of the College's foundation." Tolfdir shook his head as Cirilonde hurried off, looking around before she snuck into the Hall of Countenance to make sure no one saw her or was following her.  
  
"It simply  _must_  be possible. He is wrong. I  _will_  have it." Cirilonde dove into a nearby room and hid behind the door. Through a crack, she could see Ancano pacing about. Aside from the determination in his eyes, he looked like he hadn't eaten or slept properly since the Eye had come. "Yes, it will have answers. I know it."  
  
He then walked out the Hall of Countenance and Cirilonde hurried to the hatch and climbed down the rickety, wooden latter, into the Midden.  
  
The Midden was a dark and grim place. Where its walls weren't glazed over with a layer of ice, it was covered in mold, cobwebs and the place was littered with remnants of rituals and experiments of which she didn't want to know whether they were successful or not, but judging by the spatters of old, dried blood and burn marks, she shuddered to think.  
  
She followed Tolfdir's directions, but the door she found to where the Augur was said to be, remained locked. She leapt back, startled, when an odd, blue light was visible from under the crack of the door and came closer.  
  
"There is no solace in knowing what is to come. There is no help for you here and your perseverance will only lead you to disappointment." Cirilonde  _knew_  the voice had come from behind the door, but it echoed serenely through the whole College's foundations as though it was a part of it.  
  
"Please, if you are the Augur of Dunlain, I beg of you. I need your help." Cirilonde's voice cracked. She realized that up until now, she had been running away from everything and now that she was about to speak with this...Augur, she realized how scared she had been of the truth that just maybe none of this would end well, just as Ganir had feared.  
  
"Persistent...Very well. You may enter." The door was opened by an unseen force and revealed a round, ice-covered chamber bathed in white-blue light. Cirilonde squinted her eyes to let them adjust to the sudden brightness.  
  
"Are you the Augur of Dunlain?" she asked the glowing ball of energy, which floated and hummed serenely in the center of the room before her. She wasn't sure what or who she had expected the Augur to be or look like, but this was definitely not it, nor did it even seem possible.  
  
"I am that which you have been seeking,” said the Augur. “Your efforts are in vain, however as it has already begun. But those who have sent you have not told you what they seek. What  _you_  seek."  
  
"And what is it that I am seeking, Augur?" Though she had been respectful, she wondered what fate had befallen this poor soul divines knew how long ago.  
  
"You seek that which all who wield magic seek. Knowledge. You shall find that knowledge will corrupt. It will destroy. It will consume...” The Augur sounded bitter. “You seek meaning; shelter in knowledge. You will not find it. The Thalmor sought the same thing and it shall lead to his end as it has so many others."  
  
"The Thalmor?" Cirilonde furrowed her brow. "Do you mean Ancano?"  
  
"He has sought my knowledge as well, through different questions." She wasn't sure if the Augur was capable of thought, but judging by the hum and pulse of his appearance, he seemed to be thinking. "Your path...differs from most,” he observed. “You are being guided and pushed towards something. It is a good path, travelled by few, that can save your College and because of that, I will tell you what you need to know to continue down that path."  
  
Cirilonde swallowed, shivering. She had seen Ancano earlier and judging by his appearance and the general effects of the Eye, she feared that Ancano was in way over his head as well and she wondered how he knew about the Augur.  
  
_How long before the  rest of the College follows? Everyone's been on edge and acting weird._  
  
"Please, tell me, what do I need?"  
  
"You, and those aiding you, wish to know more about the Eye of Magnus. You wish to avoid the disaster of which you are not yet aware. To see through Magnus' Eye without being blinded, you require his staff. Events now spiral quickly towards the inevitable center, so you must act with haste. Take this knowledge to your Arch-Mage. Now...Go."  
  
Cirilonde had so many more questions, but the Augur of Dunlain faded away into nothingness, seeping into the College's foundations like it had never been there. Whatever fate had befallen him, he indeed wasn't alive or dead, but very much bound to the College and its fate. Perhaps that's why he helped her. She could feel his energy linger, weakened, and she guessed that their conversation had cost him a lot of energy.  
  
Cirilonde made her way back to the Hall of Countenance and found it quiet. She peered into the rooms and made her way to the Hall of Elements. She was rather surprised to see the Arch-Mage present there, who was studying the Eye.  
  
"Arch-Mage Aren...I have important news. Do you have a moment?" she asked him. He too, looked tired, but still calm.  
  
"Really?" he turned to her, crossing his arms over his chest. "And what might that be?"  
  
"I know this sounds crazy, but I've spoken with the Augur of Dunlain, and he told me that we require the Staff of Magnus."  
  
The Arch-Mage wasn't too pleased 'someone' had told her about the Augur's existence, being rather protective of him, but at the same time, he was impressed, because the Augur wouldn't speak to just anyone. "Did you now? And he  _specifically_  mentioned the Staff of Magnus? I am most pleased with your initiative, but someone will have to follow up on this...."  
  
Aside from the look he'd given her, Cirilonde already knew that by 'we' he meant 'her'. "So, where do we go from here?"  
  
"A most pleasing attitude." He nodded with approval. "Something as specific as the Staff of Magnus..." He stroked his beard, tugging at the tip and furrowing his brow in thought. "I recall Mirabelle mentioned it to me recently..."  
  
Cirilonde made to thank the Arch-Mage and get to business right away, when he put his hand on her shoulder. "Wait." She turned and watched him remove an amulet from around his neck, which he gave to her. "You have shown exponential growth in such a short time since your arrival. You remind me of my younger self..." His eyes held a sadness as his memories briefly took hold of him. "This amulet proved to be invaluable for me years ago. May it serve you well now."  
  
Cirilonde looked at the silver, jeweled amulet, awed by its craftsmanship and its enchantment. "You honor me Arch-...Savos. Thank you."  
  
Savos Aren smiled. "Azura guide you, Journeyman. Go. Find Mirabelle."  
  
After asking and looking around, she found Mirabelle outside, leaning against the statue and rubbing her temples. "This headache is killing me...Urgh..." she then looked up, still irritable. "What is it, Cirilonde?"  
  
"Savos...I mean, the Arch-Mage...he told me to find you as he mentioned you recently discussed the Staff of Magnus with him."  
  
"Figured you'd come asking about it after the Synod did," she snorted. "We don't have it."  
  
"I know, but...the Synod were looking for it too, here in Skyrim?" This troubled Cirilonde. After the Mages Guild was disbanded, the Synod came to be, though they were more focused on their political motives to gain power, rather than seeking and providing knowledge. If they were trying to find, or closing in to finding the Staff of Magnus... _This is getting way out of hand.  
  
_ "They thought we stored it here in a cupboard or something... _fools._ " Mirabelle spat. "I'm sorry. I'm just...Not well. They left after they realized we really didn't have it and they mentioned an expedition to Mzulft; a Dwemer ruin to the South-East of Windhelm."  
  
Mirabelle was so kind to show Cirilonde where it was on the map she had been given by Urag and after thanking her, she hurried to find Ganir, who was piling through the countless books and documents on legends, tales and journal fragments on vampires and vampirism.  
  
After Cirilonde had given him a summary in a hushed tone, he got up. "All right, let me get my things and get going."  
  
"I don't know if that's wise," she stopped him. "I mean, have you seen Ancano?" Cirilonde's eyes shot around the Arcaneum. Though she couldn't see anyone close, she had the feeling someone was watching them.  
  
"I have..." Ganir wasn't sure why Cirilonde would give a damn about the Thalmor's well-being, but his behavior since the Eye could be considered a mildly, disturbing obsession. "Maybe the Eye will drive him mad and he'll jump off the bridge."  
  
Cirilonde wasn't too amused by that. "I need you to stay here and keep an eye on things. Things are going to get out of control no matter what we do, and fast. I know I'm asking a lot of you, but Ancano can't be left unattended while this damned Eye is slowly driving us mad."  
  
"I  _will_  kill him if he tries anything." Ganir warned her.  
  
"Don't. If we hurt him, the Thalmor will come looking and they can't know anything about this. So when I say 'watch' him, I mean 'don't hurt him. I'm going to Mzulft, which is South-East of Windhelm. The Synod are there and should be able to tell me more about the Staff of Magnus."  
  
Ganir knew right away just by the name, that Mzulft was a Dwemer ruin. He'd had plenty of experience delving into those for his targets, who would often hide there. "Be careful Ciri. I will come for you if it takes too long."  
  
The spear-length icicles that dangled  from the bottom of the bridge to the College plummeted down into the river far below as the hooves of Cirilonde's dappled mare, Fiona, stomped down on the stone as she raced against time to find Mzulft. The cold, bitter wind slapped her in the face and the snow was crushed below the horse's hooves if not sent flying as she stormed down the roads and eventually, the tricky, slippery trial up to the ancient, Dwemer ruin.

 

 

Savos Aren looked out the windows of his quarters. The shadow of the Arcane Eye embedded in the glass cast a shadow on the floor in the entry hall to his chambers. He watched Cirilonde climb on her horse and race off across the bridge. His hands trembled and he swallowed, overwhelmed with an age-old guilt that tore at him still. Yet, here she was, as promising as he had been, except where he had failed, she was fighting against the odds thrown against her and doing what she could, even though she had all the means and reasons not too.  
  
_"Come on, we're finally here! Let's not waste any more time!" said a young, enthusiastic Savos Aren._

_Takes-In-Light, an older, Argonian (Lizard-folk of Black Marsh) female, peered up at the magnificent, but eerie and foreboding entrance to the ruins of Labyrinthian where the six Winterhold College students had travelled too in search of adventure, treasure and glory. "Are we truly sure this is a good idea?"_  
  
Atmah, a pretty, young Redguard waved her hand dismissively. "We'll be back at the College before anyone even knows we're gone."  
  
Girduin, a burly Nord fellow, snorted. "You would care about that since you're the Arch-Mage's favorite!"  
  
Savos' lips curled as he teased the Redguard. "Don't forget, this whole idea was Atmah's to begin with."  
  
"Let's just get inside," said Hafnar, a tall, gaunt, Nord fellow. "See what's in there."  
  
Savos Aren and his fellow students pulled at the torc that opened the ancient, stone door that led into the ruin and they were amazed, taken aback by the tomb's entry hall. Though most had decayed, what remained showed how ancient it was and was but a promise of what they could perhaps find here. He squeezed the hand of Elvali Veren,  a fellow Dunmer sorceress he had grown most fond of in his short time at the College and she seemed to like him just as much. They would spend hours together talking about Mournhold, the city of magic, which he'd wanted to visit.

_"I can't believe we're doing this." She couldn't hold her excitement and grinned wide._  
  
"Can you imagine the looks on their faces when we come back?" Savos grinned just as wide.  
  
"You keep talking like you're sure we'll find something useful in here." Hafnar kicked the shard of an urn away, thus far not impressed.  
  
"Enchanted weapons. Tomes of ancient knowledge. Shalidor's secrets themselves...Who knows what we could find!" Savos wouldn't let the Nord kill the buzz. This was amazing!  
  
"And what if...What if there are things guarding this place?" Takes-In-Light wasn't necessarily scared, but she was well-informed about the potential dangers within places such as these.  
  
"Against six, College-trained mages?" Atmah laughed. "We'll be fine!"  
  
Savos would never forget the soulless, wicked and empty eye-sockets of the skeleton dragon, nor would he ever forget the terrible shrieks of pure agony and horror as Girduin was torn to shreds by the monster. Nor would Savos forget any of their faces, because he couldn't, as one by one, his friends met their end in all kinds of terrible, gruesome ways at the hands of the horrors within Labyrinthian. But he kept urging them to go on, convinced that it would all be worth it in the end.  
  
Savos looked down at the ancient, Nordic and carved, steel ring in his hands he had ripped from the entrance to Labyrinthian. From the very moment the Eye had been unearthed, he'd had a sense of Déjà vu, but he had pushed it to the back of his head until the Eye had reached out to him one night and he was all too familiar with its energy. It was the same, intrusive and magical, intelligent energy he had felt when he had been in Labyrinthian so long ago...  
  
A sudden crackle and rumble like a thundering shockwave tore him from his musings as the College's walls shook. "What in Azura's name was that?! I swear...PHINIS!" He bellowed. "If you are trying to combine multiple Atronachs into one again...!" he made to stomp down the stairs and give Phinis a good what for, when he met a distraught Mirabelle halfway.

"Savos...! It's Ancano!" she cried. "I tried to stop him and keep him away from the Eye, but he's  _completely_  lost it! We have to stop him before he-,"  
  
They held on to the walls as not to tumble down the stone steps as the walls were shaken again, this time much harder and a bone-chilling, unnatural shriek was heard. They wasted no time and rushed down the stairs. Savos wasn't even sure how at his age, he hadn't tripped.  
  
"What in Nirn...?!Tolfdir, what in Azura's name happened?!" Savos hurried to Tolfdir, who struggled to get up as he'd been thrown out of the Hall of Elements by the terrible, whirling and chaotic energy of the Eye, which now blocked the entrance to the Hall of Elements.  
  
"Are you all right, Tolfdir?" Mirabelle asked as she and Savos helped him get up. Aside from the nasty scratches and bruises on his arms and legs, he seemed to be all right, other than visibly shaken. "What's going on? Where is Ancano?"  
  
"I tried to stop him, I swear it!" Tolfdir's voice shook as he was so upset. "He wouldn't even look at me, nor did he seem to hear me. He has _completely_ lost it and the moment I tried to get anywhere near him, the Eye...I just...He's in there. We have to stop him!"  
  
"What in Oblivion happened?" Ganir asked as he had stormed in with Brelyna, Onmund and J'Zhargo. They'd just been practicing warding and destruction spells when everything went haywire.  
  
"You three." Mirabelle pointed to Onmund, J'Zhargo and Brelyna. "I need you to gather all students and get them to the Hall of Countenance. For this situation, you are allowed to enter. Ganir, I need you to fetch Faralda for me and be on the lookout for Cirilonde...What are you three waiting for? GO!"  
  
"Again, what in the blazing hells is going on?" Ganir asked again. "Is the Eye unstable or something?"  
  
"No, it's Ancano." Mirabelle growled. "We need to figure out a way to get that ward down before it brings the whole College down on us. Go, Ganir!"  
  
Every few minutes or so, the walls of the College would be shaken and Ganir waited near the College's gates, often contemplating to head back and check, but he knew he'd be of no use and that Savos, Mirabelle and Tolfdir would keep everything under control.  
  
Winterhold's villagers, however, seemed to think otherwise and came looking with the guards. Phinis had come to Ganir's aid and summoned two most intimidating Frost Atronachs to keep the villagers, guards and Jarl back, who were forced to disperse as Cirilonde finally returned and cried for everyone to get out of her way and though Fiona was exhausted, the mare kept galloping at full speed across the bridge.

Blood from Decimius coated her robes. She had no time to think about what she'd done just yet, because the moment she realized the Oculory (which she had set ablaze) could register the Eye over such a great distance, she knew that things had gone from bad to worse and upon closing in to Winterhold, this fear was confirmed as she could sense the rippling energy waves when she closed in on Winterhold.  
  
She threw the doors to the Hall of Elements open and was greeted by the sight of Savos Aren and Mirabelle Ervine who struggled against the same energy she had seen when Tolfdir and she had first found the orb.  
  
"Just  _what_  is he doing in there? How is Ancano even doing this?" Mirabelle was shoved away by the barrier the moment she got too close.  
  
"I don't  _care_  what it is. I want it down. NOW!" Savos' voice was filled with calm rage. He turned to Cirilonde and nodded at her. "It's good to see you back. Assist us. If we pressure this barrier enough, we should be able to get it down. I _will_ get to the bottom of this. I assure you!"  
  
Cirilonde joined the Arch-Mage and Master Wizard and combining their forces, they gave everything they had; blasting frost, flame and shock at the barrier, which finally gave when they thought it was futile and they ran out of strength and willpower to cast.  
  
Though their minds and bodies had been pushed over their limits, they ran into the Hall of Elements and saw that Ancano indeed had been tampering with the Eye, except, it had turned on him and in his weakened state, the Eye had taken possession of him. A wicked, jagged crackle of lightning bound the Thalmor with the Eye and though it was most likely futile, he struggled in an attempt to break free, which wasn't noticed right away by the Arch-Mage who marched to him.  
  
"Ancano I  _command_  you to stop this at once!" Savos bellowed.  
  
Mirabelle's eyes widened in horror and she shielded Cirilonde because the moment Savos Aren got too close to Ancano, the Eye of Magnus showed its true, wicked nature as it opened. A bright, white light filled the entire room, blinding everyone and again that terrible, terrible shriek was heard and they were blown away by a new, thundering wave of energy.  
  
When Cirilonde came too, she found herself in pain as she'd been thrown against the wall and had fallen on the ground. She felt the blood seep from her nose and there was a nasty deep cut in her cheek. Slowly and aching, she lift herself off the floor and looked at Mirabelle, who sat slumped, but alive against a pillar next to Cirilonde. She seemed all right despite a bit roughed up. "Thank the Divines you're alive." The Master Wizard sighed with relief. "Can you get up?"  
  
"I...I can." Cirilonde crawled to her knees. "What happened?"  
  
"I don't know...Ancano is doing something with that...that thing. The Eye..." Mirabelle suddenly only now seemed to come too her senses. "We can't stop him!" She looked around in panic. "Savos! Where is Savos? SAVOS!"  
  
Cirilonde looked at the entrance to the College and saw that the door had been obliterated to smithereens and Ganir came running in. He looked furious with his face set in a snarl and his eyes seemed ablaze in its glow. "Ancano, you n'chow Thalmor s'wit!" He roared. "Ciri? Ciri?! Where are you?!"  
  
"I'm here...Where is the Arch-Mage? Have you seen him?" Cirilonde took Ganir's hand as he helped her up and a chill ran down her spine when she looked him in the eyes.  
  
"He's dead..." He replied. "I saw it happen. He flew through the door and was slammed into the statue."  
  
They didn't even get a chance to grief as Tolfdir ran into the Hall of Elements as fast as his old age permitted him. "Mirabelle, we have a  _huge_  problem. The village of Winterhold...I don't know what happened, but it's been run over by...by anomalies of some sort!"  
  
"Take care of it then!" Mirabelle snapped. She groaned and shook her head. "This is hopeless...We're doomed."  
  
"We're not!" Cirilonde snapped. "I know where I can find the Staff of Magnus. It's in Labyrinthian. I came back here before rushing into anything."  
  
"Labyrinthian, huh?" Mirabelle frantically sought for it in the pockets of her robes. Surely, she hadn't lost it? No, there it was. Her fingers wrapped around the ancient, steel ring. "Savos gave this to me. Said to give it to you in case something happened...I...I think he knew..." Tears ran freely down Mirabelle's cheeks. she'd wanted to maintain her composure but the pain from Savos' loss was immense when it hit her.  
  
Cirilonde took the ring from Mirabelle, not sure of its use but she was sure she'd figure it out. The Arch-mage knew what he'd been doing. "There's no time to waste." she said to Ganir. "We have to leave immediately and get that staff before that Eye destroys us all."  
  
"Before  _Ancano_  destroys us all." Ganir spat, glaring at Ancano through the blur of the teal storm of energy. As Ganir and Cirilonde stormed out of Winterhold on horseback once more, they saw how Faralda, Phinis, Drevis and Tolfdir took care of the magical anomalies that had spawned out of seemingly nowhere. They were forced to duck for cover as the anomalies even made to lunge at them, but thankfully, they made their escape and headed for Labyrinthian, which was South-East of Morthal.

 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yes, he will hold a grudge. Most likely, he will be enraged, but Ancano will cooperate because he will have no. Other. Choice. So you can either deal with one Thalmor, or deal with a legion because we've killed one of their own. They would raze the College to the ground, tear the Augur to shreds. They will stop at nothing to find what they wish on the Eye of Magnus or the staff. "

**Chapter 9**

"Did you  _see_  that?!" Cirilonde exclaimed as she pushed her whole weight against the barricaded door along with Ganir. She was pale and her eyes were wide in horror and disbelief. The door almost gave every time the beast rammed its thick skull against the door, shrieking and roaring in rage, which kind of confirmed neither of the two elves had gone completely mad.  
  
"Not the type of dragon I have a bone to pick with." Ganir shook his head, eyes wide as well. "Definitely unusual."

"That was a  _skeletal_ ,  _undead_  dragon!" Cirilonde shrieked. She still couldn’t believe what she had just seen and that they even got away. "What was the Arch-Mage thinking sending us here?!"

The two elves were almost sent flying when the skeleton dragon rammed its skull against the door again, nearly unhinging it and they decided it was time to venture further into Labyrinthian, which was very unlike most of the Barrows they had encountered thus far. On the exterior, Labyrinthian, long ago, must have been some sort of ancient settlement, and judging by the interior of this part of Labyrinthian, seemed to be a temple of some kind. Over time, Kynareth seemed to have reclaimed parts of it, as the engraved walls and ceilings had collapsed and nature had made its way into the temple. Water flowed freely into the ruins and tore at the stone and plants had weeded their way in. Yet, Labyrinthian's undead guards were still very much present, but in comparison to the skeletal dragon, one could consider the Draugr but a nuisance.

They made to descend the ancient steps further down after having ventured quite far already, when a sudden, blue burst of energy shot forth from the depths. It wrapped itself around Cirilonde, who was caught off-guard and fell to her knees, clinging to her head as it ravaged her magickal energies and briefly broke her connection to the Arcane.

"Wo meyz wah dii vul junaar?!" The voice that had spoken was ancient, raspy and guttural, echoing menacingly through the whole ruins. Ganir held his daggers at the ready, staying close to Cirilonde. His eyes shot from left to right, as if expecting anything to leap from the shadows and attack them any moment. It remained eerily silent and nothing came.

"Ciri..." He looked at her over his shoulder.

Cirilonde raised her hand. "I'm all right…not hurt at least, but whatever  _that_  was, it just knocked the magicka right out of me. I just need a minute…Urgh…my head." She rubbed her temples. Though the pain had lessened, its hold lingered in her head like a dark cloud, muddling her senses.

"Whatever is in here, it's out to get you." Ganir looked into the depths ahead of them. "And the way it spoke…Like that Draugr in Bleak Falls…and that dragon in Whiterun."

"I know…" Cirilonde grit her teeth. This … thing was beating down on her like the Eye was. "We need to push on. We've come too far."

Ganir nodded. "Will you be all right, though?" He had to say he admired her. After all she'd been through, she was still headstrong and refused to give up even if she was afraid, weakened and tired.

She nodded and they continued with more caution, only to face a new issue. They had made their way into a long, pillar-sided hallway with alcoves, where neither of them could believe their eyes as the Draugr were spectral, void of a physical body. They appeared out of seemingly nowhere and took them by complete surprise as they flew towards them, gliding through air like wraiths. Their enraged shrieks tore at Cirilonde and Ganir’s sensitive ears, who they sought to kill for violating the sanctity of their temple.

"Nivahriin muz fent siiv aaz het!"

Cirilonde cried out as the snarling voice beat down on her once again and she fell to her knees. The tips of her fingers crackled with magickal energy as she strained her mind and body to resist its unseen beating. The pain was unbearable and it felt as though her scalp was being torn at, which she clung too with all might as though it was about to get ripped off.

"Ciri…I. Need. Help!" Ganir grit his teeth as he struggled to parry and dodge the blows the spectral draugr. They were far more fast and vicious like their physical ‘cousins’. One of them suddenly side-stepped him and caught him off-guard with a parry and dug its jagged, spectral blade into Ganir's leg.

Snarling in rage, Ganir slashed his dagger at the undead monstrosity, except it went straight through the wicked entity, that seemed to grin almost knowingly.

"ENOUGH!" Cirilonde released an intense wave of blazing energy that banished the Spectral Draugr, who cried out in surprise and tried to get away, but the energy tore them to shreds. Ganir fell to the ground and clung to his leg, swearing.

"Ciri…Don't. Save your energy." She ignored him, however and healed the wound as best as she could. It was a strange sensation, as he'd always been cold from the moment he joined the undead himself. The flesh and skin grew warm and was mended without flaw.  
  
"Whatever that is…whatever awaits us, we will face it together." There was a fiery determination in her green eyes. "I won't let my guard down this time."

They continued further down, except now, Cirilonde had raised all of her defensive wards and as long as Ganir stayed close to her the (spectral) draugrs stayed back. Cirilonde truly was an amazingly skilled sorceress.

The two Elves walked down the crumbling, stone walkway. Icy cold droplets of water sprayed down on them from the water that fell from the ceiling into the ruins, weathering away at the intricate, stone carvings that once told the tale and purpose behind this dark, grim place.

When they reached a large pair of doors at the bottom, they stumbled back as the doors were flung open by the same, powerful and unseen force.

"You do not answer. Must I use this… _guttural_  language of yours?" Even in the common tongue, the voice was menacing, raspy and condescending. "Have you returned, Aren, my old friend?"

Cirilonde and Ganir looked at each other, both startled at the mention of the name and overwhelmed with the same questions, but knew it had to wait and pressed on.

They finally made it to an antechamber, and found the source of the unseen voice and energy. Whatever this wraith-like being was, it had been imprisoned by two, ghostly figures clad in robes they both recognized to be from the College.

What had happened here and how was Savos Aren involved?

The being that was imprisoned by these ghostly mages, floated in a magical orb that kept him imprisoned there for Divines knew how long. "You…You are not Aren, are you?"

The being they faced, unbeknownst to them yet, was a Dragon Priest; a now undead servant to the Dragons of old, clad in tattered, once elaborate and colorful robes. Its face lay hidden behind a wicked, carved mask made of moonstone.

"Who are you?" Cirilonde dared ask, not lowering her guard.

"Aren has sent you to finish what he could not and yet you know not whom you face?" The being sneered. "I…am…Morokei."

With each of his last three words, and the syllables of his name, even more, powerful energy waves tore at the orb that imprisoned him.

The ghastly mages stumbled and struggled to maintain his prison. "I can't hold it… much. Longer!" One of them yelled, voice echoing.

The Dragon Priest, Morokei, at last released a final, immense shockwave and broke free of the prison, tearing the ghostly mages to shreds, who cried out. He had patiently bid his time to finish what Savos Aren had started and now, he had sent these pitiful weaklings to dare oppose him. "You. Will. Die!"

Cirilonde and Ganir's eyes widened when they saw the staff in Morokei's bony, gloved claws which he raised and aimed at them. They bolted out of the way, diving for cover from the jolts, behind the pillars up the stairway to the altar where he had once peacefully had been laid to rest.

"He has the staff!" Cirilonde yelled at Ganir, who stood behind another pillar.

"I. Know!" Ganir ducked for cover just in time as the bolt from the Staff of Magnus barely missed him, but sent the stone of the pillar flying and he was forced to run.

"Like Aren, you have no idea who you are dealing with, fools." Morokei shot the magickal energies at the Dark Elf, who, as he ran, was forced to dive, duck and roll for cover.  
  
"Ciri!" Ganir yelled. "Would be nice if you could help!"

Now that Morokei had focused on Ganir, Cirilonde had managed to break free from his magic, suppressing aura and she uttered the incantation, her brow furrowed in utter, deep focus as she reached into the plains of Oblivion while her hands channeled the magickal energies.

Ganir looked at where Cirilonde was and watched, impressed, how she conjured a flame atronach from the plains of Oblivion, who came from a black and purple, crackling portal with a whoosh.  
Morokei spun around, snarling as he had been so foolish to forget about the mage and shot forward, launching a new barrage of spells at the atronach, who gracefully glided on flames and blasted fireballs at Morokei.

"His staff!" Cirilonde cried to Ganir, who threw everything she could at Morokei; frost, flame and shock, but Morokei laughed. The Staff of Magnus absorbed every spell flung at him. Ganir smirked and knew what to do and bolted forward at the Dragon Priest, who turned around as he heard the footsteps but it was too late and Ganir rammed into him, tearing the staff from his hands and elbowed the mask off where his face would be.

"No! Noooo!" Morokei clawed at the nothingness where his face once was, shrieking in utter horror as what remained of his body twisted and contorted. His mask was removed and he no longer held the Staff of Magnus in his hands. His power was broken. Cirilonde had grabbed the staff and she dove forward, dodging his bolt of shock and she used the staff against him. Magic energy surged and burst from the staff and tore away at the Dragon Priest until nothing remained.

They both remained on their knees, out of breath and taken aback. They had just defeated an ancient evil and obtained the Staff of Magnus; an amazing but terrible and powerful artefact. The staff looked simple, made of carved dragon bone with an interesting stone and crystals embedded on top of it that seemed to be made of the same material the Eye of Magnus was

"Ganir. Are you all right?" Cirilonde leaned on the staff as she got to her feet. Ganir nodded and looked at the moonstone carved mask in his hands.

"We need to get back to the College…If it's still there." Ganir gestured for her to follow her. "This way, I saw a door ahead, maybe it's the quick way out."

Cirilonde dispelled the atronach and followed Ganir through the gates behind the steps down from the altar on the other side. They opened the doors to a small room and made to walk to the door past that, except it was flung open and they both backed away in a defensive stance, completely taken aback by the appearance of someone they least expected.

They first thought it was Ancano, but the Altmer before them was an entirely different Thalmor.  
This High Elf was taller than Ancano, with a strong, wider jawline and high, pronounced cheekbones. His eyes were bright and green. He stood tall, graceful but still ready to strike at them should they be so foolish (in his eyes, at least) to attempt anything. "So you made it out of here alive…Ancano was right, you are dangerous." His voice was silky and calm as he regarded his potential opposition. A Dark Elf vampire and an Altmer mage like himself. He looked at Cirilonde. She indeed was beautiful, but there indeed was that fire in her eyes like Ancano had said. "I'm afraid I must take that staff from you, my dear. No one has to get hurt."

"We have no quarrel with you, but we can't give you the staff." Cirilonde gripped the Staff of Magnus tighter and took a step back.

"Do you now?" he chuckled. "I believe Ancano-,"

"To hell with that fetcher, you Thalmor swine!" Ganir lunged for the High Elf, whose flame bolt shot past him. "Run, Ciri! I'll catch up!"

The Thalmor elbowed Ganir in the gut and spun around to punch him, his fist ablaze with magickal fire but he forgot, realizing this too late with dread, that the Dark Elf was also a vampire and thus not only faster but also far stronger. Ganir dug his claws into the Thalmor's throat before twisting his arm and brought it down to his knee with full force, shattering the bone. "I don't have time for your sort!"

"Filthy mongrel!" The High Elf roared and made to lash out with another spell with his good hand, but Ganir threw him over the stone casket and into the urns that lined the wall.

Ganir had no time to check and bounded after Cirilonde, barricading the doors behind him.

Once he got outside, he had expected for Cirilonde to have done as he said, yet she was there on her horse, waiting for him and holding the reins of his horse, Tormagg. He wanted to be mad, but on the other hand, he was thankful for her loyalty.

They raced back towards Winterhold, and their hearts sank because just as they made it past Windhelm, they saw the enormous, glowing light in the far distance and upon closing in they saw that the light came from the Eye of Magnus, whose energy field had now fully engulfed the College of Winterhold.

The streets of Winterhold were completely abandoned; something that Tolfdir had convinced the Jarl and his people to do with a lot of effort. The people were angry, and rightly so. First the Great Collapse and now this!

"What in Oblivion happened?" Cirilonde cried over the howling energy as she and Ganir joined the Masters on the bridge. "Where is Mirabelle?!"

Tolfdir, who had looked so relieved to see them, choked up as emotions overwhelmed him. "She told us to run. Had it not been for her sacrifice, we all would have perished. The Eye grew unstable, and she stayed back to contain the damage, but we've not seen her yet…I think…I think she's gone."

Ganir looked at Cirilonde. "You still believe he's innocent?!"

"Master Tolfdir, I have the Staff of Magnus, we need to get in there and stop this once and for all!" Cirilonde cried. "Whatever you do, do not get anywhere near Ancano. Let me handle it. Do not kill him. He is possessed by the Eye, I saw it myself." She looked at Ganir to emphasize her last sentence.  
  
"Let's go then, Cirilonde. After you." Cirilonde was taken aback as the Masters; Tolfdir, Faralda, Phinis, Colette, Drevis and Sergius, stepped back. They were expecting her to take the lead. She nodded and stood facing the next half of the bridge where the energy whirled, howling and tearing away at the stone.

She raised the staff and aimed it at the storm, which rippled as if recoiling from the Staff's presence. In the distance, she could hear the Eye snarl in rage and fight back, but it was no match for the Staff and the joined forces of the Masters who cast their spells at the storm as well and it dissipated.

"Hurry, before it regains its strength!" Cirilonde yelled and they ran across the bridge, which shook as they crossed it, but they had no time to be afraid or hesitant. They made their way across the snow-covered courtyard. "Look for anyone that was left behind and may have survived the blow. Ganir, Master Tolfdir, I need you with me to face Ancano!"

They ran into the Hall of Elements, where the Eye of Magnus awaited them, along with Ancano, who still was bound to the Eye, but had fallen to his knees. No doubt he’d been dealt quite the blow when they broke  the ward and Cirilonde grew quite aware it could cost the Thalmor’s life if they broke the Eye’s hold on him.

"Ancano, can you hear me?!" Cirilonde kept the Staff of Magnus at the ready as she carefully approached Ancano, whose body was lined with web-like scars that glowed with wicked, magical energy, that burned into his skin.

"Do you  _truly_ think you can even hope to stop me, you fool?!" He snarled as he got up. Cirilonde gasped, startled. His eyes were glowing with madness. "The power to unmake the world is at my fingertips and you think your pitiful attempts at magic can do  _anything_?!"

"We'll show you  _pitiful,_ Ancano!" Tolfdir lunged at Ancano from behind with a bolt of ice, but it bounced off Ancano, who spun around and the magickal, wicked energy from the Eye whipped from Ancano's arm to Tolfdir who raised a defensive, magickal ward in time. The impact threw the old Nord back, but was otherwise not injured. Ancano then turned to lash out at Cirilonde who raised her staff in time and the lightning-like energy was devoured by the staff.

"So, you dare oppose me, elf?" Though she heard his own voice, this definitely wasn't Ancano.

"All right, enough of this." Ganir muttered to himself and he pulled his daggers out.

"Cirilonde. The Eye! Use your staff on the Eye!" Tolfdir pointed at the Eye and kept his ward up, backing away.

The young High Elf glared the Eye, that seemed to taunt her to do so and she raised the Staff of Magnus, shooting the energy from the crystals on the staff to the Eye. The Eye shrieked, enraged as it twisted and contorted. This time, she was prepared and she shielded her eyes from the bright, white flash as the Eye opened itself once more.

"I will  _destroy_  you, worm!" Ancano snarled whose eyes were aglow in the same teal colour as the Eye’s and charged for Cirilonde with the magical anomalies that had spawned from the light. Tolfdir and Ganir got their attention and dealt with them. It left Cirilonde to contend with a possessed Ancano, whose face was contorted in rage as he flung spell after spell at her, but they were absorbed by the staff.

"We have to break his connection to the Eye!" Cirilonde cried to Ganir, who protected Tolfdir that fought against the anomalies, blasting them to shreds with his wide array of spells.

Ganir looked from the Eye to Ancano and charged at the Thalmor while he was focused on Cirilonde.

The Dark Elf rammed into the shoulder of the possessed High Elf, who made a surprisingly fast recovery and as he regained his footing, he shot a bolt of ice at Ganir, burying it deep in his chest. "One mistake, friend. I'm already dead!"

Ganir plunged his dagger into Ancano's shoulder, who cried out in pain as blood sprayed from the deep, wicked wound the dagger inflicted on him. Ganir made to raise his other dagger, but he was flung back by a burst of energy that came from Ancano. In that brief, swift moment, Ganir saw the eyes of the Thalmor change and the flicker of utter fear as the Eye released its hold on the High Elf.  
  
Ganir charged forward again and shoved Ancano against the wall, who was overwhelmed by utter, terrible pain as the Eye's wicked energy lingered on his body and burned into his flesh, the scars glowing. "I will make you pay for what you've done!" Ganir snarled, raising his dagger to strike again.

"Ganir, no!" Cirilonde cried. "I beg you, this wasn't his fault!"

"Cirilonde, the Eye!" Tolfdir cried out, pointing at the eye. Ganir, Ancano and Cirilonde both stared at the Eye, terrified as it had opened further than before and looked about to explode, but suddenly, that familiar, strong sensation overwhelmed her as out of nowhere, four Psijic monks appeared from portals and though they all saw them, time was soon frozen after, save for the four Psijic monks and Cirilonde.

"You have done it!” Quaranir said proudly. He had appeared next to her from a portal. “You have succeeded!"

"The Eye…It's going to explode any second!" Cirilonde exclaimed, trembling from the adrenaline that still surged through her veins. She looked at Ganir and Ancano. Ganir’s dagger was but inches away from Ancano’s chest, who looked horrified and in pure anguish. Her heart sank and filled with pity. _This wasn’t his fault or doing…_  
  
"He got what he deserved.” Quaranir spat when he followed her gaze. “He's shown that the world truly isn't ready for the Eye. We shall take it from here, however, and take the Eye with us, and hide it."

"Wait!" Cirilonde felt the ripple of time and grabbed hold of the sleeve of Quaranir’s robe. "Let me save him. I beg of you. He doesn't deserve this."

Quaranir raised a brow and looked at his associates, who nodded. "I suppose we owe you."

Cirilonde ran to the two Elves and stood in front of Ancano, grabbing hold of Ganir’s hand. Time began to flow once more and it was just barely that they all saw how the four Psijic monks teleported out with the Eye and Ganir's blade stopped just in time from piercing her heart. Behind her, she heard Ancano slump to the ground.

"What are you doing?!" Ganir roared. "You've  _seen_  what he's done. He deserves to die!"

"You've also seen he was possessed by the Eye. This wasn't his fault!" She bellowed back, enraged he would let his emotions get the better of him and kill to easily without a second thought as to the consequences.

They looked up when the Masters ran into the Hall of Elements and looked at Ancano, whose blood pooled from the wound inflicted on him, shocked to see the scars that marked him. "Is it over? Is he dead?" Faralda sounded far too hopeful for Cirilonde's liking, but she couldn't blame them at the same time either.

"No. He's not dead. And I won't let you kill him!" Cirilonde knelt down next to the Thalmor. She was angry with him and she was sure he wasn't innocent, but he must have realized too late as well he was in way over his head." Cirilonde's voice shook. "This is not our way. This is not what Savos would have wanted. There's already been so much death…"

They all looked at each other and then at Cirilonde, who attempted to heal the deep wound in Ancano’s chest, only to receive a shock from the scars once her magic energies aimed to reach Ancano’s wound. The High Elf’s face contorted in agony but remained unconscious. "Mistress Colette, please…"

"No…I can't…I just can't. Not after what he's done." Colette shook her head and stepped back.

Cirilonde’s heart fell. Though she understood Colette’s actions, she was hurt none of them would support her in this, even if she wasn’t sure if she had made the right choice and looked at Ganir, whose anger had subsided. Her words echoed in his mind. He hated Ancano, but she was right, there had been too much death nor would Savos have wanted this and he sheathed his daggers.

"I don’t know if this is the wisest choice you’ve made, Ciri, but I’ll help you.” He then looked at the Masters. "She's right. He will face the consequences of his actions but we will be fair, unless anyone wants to argue what Savos intended to maintain for the College."

"He's right." Tolfdir sighed, shaking his head. He then looked at his colleagues. "We need to get the students back on the grounds and informed and take a look at the damage done."

"Where do we take him?" Ganir asked Cirilonde, who tended to Ancano with a bit more caution.

"Take him to the Arch-Mage's quarters…" Tolfdir made to continue but Faralda’s temper flared.

"And what about Savos…What about Mirabelle? Do they need their bodies stored in the Midden while he lies in  _his_  bed?!" Faralda snarled.

"We should just dump his body in the Midden and let the wraiths take care of the rest." Phinis muttered.

"I understand how you feel, but it is not the way. We shall make preparation for their funerals." Tolfdir maintained his calm. "We shall keep their bodies in the Arch-Mage's quarters as well while we prepare them for their final journey. Please…we've all been through a lot. Cirilonde has made her choice…"

They all looked at Cirilonde, who looked at Ganir. "Please, Ganir. Help me get him upstairs."

Ganir threw the unconscious Thalmor over his shoulder and carried him up to the Arch-Mage's quarters, soon followed by the Masters, who carried the bodies of Savos and Mirabelle upstairs. He wasn't too gentle, but laid Ancano down on the Arch-Mage's bed.

He grudgingly realized that he felt somewhat sorry for the fool. Judging by his injuries not only inflicted by him, but also the Eye, Ancano had to be in a lot of pain. _Lucky for you, you’re not conscious to get the full brunt of it, s’wit._   
  
Cirilonde checked for the Thalmor’s pulse and sighed, shaking her head. He was still alive, but this was really bad. _Can I even save him?_  
  
"Ciri…I hope you know what you're doing." Ganir squeezed her shoulder. "But what you did there…That was brave. Know that I will support you."

She held Ganir's hand. "I don't even know what I'm doing…but it feels right. He doesn't deserve this…if I even manage to save him."

"Make no mistake, he might still be out for our blood when he wakes." Ganir warned her. "Don't forget what he is and what his lot does and has done."

"Please, just let me take care of him." Cirilonde was tired and had no strength left to fight or argue. Ganir looked at Ancano and shook his head, but left them nevertheless to see if he could help the Masters.

He would face the consequences of his actions, but he knew that this was just the beginning.  
He looked at the bodies of Savos Aren and Mirabelle. Savos Aren lay peacefully, whereas Mirabelle's body was wrapped in linen which were stained with blood. No doubt, her sacrifice had been a most painful one.

He looked at Tolfdir, who remained while the others left and stared at the bodies of his two peers and dear friends. He was shaking, eyes glazed over with tears, and he looked at Cirilonde who tended to Ancano.

"She's brave." He said softly, wiping a few tears away. "I don't think I could ever bring myself to do such a thing, regardless of what Savos would have wanted."

"I am sorry for your loss, sera,” Ganir said, laying a hand on the old Nord’s shoulder. “You ought to rest. We will need our minds clear for what is yet to come.”

 

**A few days later…**

 

All the lights on the grounds had been dimmed. Only a few, select torches and candles lit the courtyard of the College of Winterhold and there was a sad, serene silence, save for the wind that swept the snow in a flurry around all of them.

In the center of the courtyard, they had built a funeral pyre on the center font, where the bodies of Savos Aren and Mirabelle lay, wrapped in burial linen with the College's Arcane Eye on it. Ganir squeezed Cirilonde's hand, who clung to Staff of Magnus. Everyone from the College walked by the pyre, clad in black robes and wept quietly if they didn't remain silent as they left offerings and loving thanks and goodbyes.

Ganir nodded at Cirilonde when Tolfdir beckoned for her to follow him and Ganir joined the rest of the students whereas Cirilonde joined the Masters in front of the statue. Cirilonde stood next to Tolfdir, who stood in the center and he stepped forward, hands raised to the sky. On que the funeral pyre caught flame, except the flames were white-blue and its glowing embers floated skyward as the bodies of Savos and Mirabelle were consumed by the magickal fire.

Cirilonde finally caved and wept, as did everyone else. They had survived, but at a terrible price.

Though the flames had died down an hour ago, Cirilonde and Ganir stood in front of the font, watching the ashes get carried away by the wind. Everyone had gone inside for dinner, though no one seemed to have much of an appetite.

"Even if he wakes, what makes you think he will not run to the Thalmor?" Ganir asked. He had been most calm and patient with her, but it had run low as she refused to answer him. She had been irritable and distant as she pushed herself in the pursuit of saving Ancano’s life.

Cirilonde tensed, but not from anger, but her eyes glazed over. Had he opened some old wound?  
"We’ve been over this before. He won't. Trust me," she said through grit teeth. "If you think that his current state is a terrible fate for anyone, you do not know what they would do to him if they found out he let slip the Eye of Magnus into the hands of the Psijic."

"And you know this…why?" Ganir cocked a brow.

"I don't want to talk about it." She snapped and turned away from him. She grew irritable and gave him the cold shoulder whenever he pressed this matter. It was very unlike her.  
  
And it was exactly what had pressed his patience. She should trust him. Tell him. Why wasn’t she? He made to push the matter further when Tolfdir joined them. "Cirilonde, the Masters are ready and wish to speak with you."

Cirilonde didn't look at Ganir and walked past him, into the Hall of Elements, with heavy feet and heart, but still, she was ready no matter what they would throw at her. The Masters could tell this about her right away and bowed their heads.  
  
"You wished to see me," she said. From the corner of her eye she had caught Ganir slip in as well and stood nearby in the shadows. Her eyes glanced at every one of the Masters, who were all clad in different, black robes with silvery, embroidered sashes.  
   
"It's been nearly a week since the incident. You have _no_ idea how much effort we've gone through not to just re-establish the daily affairs within the College, but also smooth things over with Jarl Korir of Winterhold. Yet, you have failed to supply us with one, valid reason as to convince us why Ancano could be trusted not to run to the Thalmor." Faralda seemed to be the only one who dared speak her mind. "Savos and Mirabelle are gone, leaving the College in a most vulnerable state. Ancano is the _exact_ reason why we've been so strict about letting just anyone into the College." The more she talked, the angrier Faralda seemed to get. "And look what he's done! So, again, if I don't get a valid reason right now, I will go up there and put that Thalmor scum out of  _our_  misery!"

Cirilonde's face was set in cold, silent rage as she stared Faralda down. Ganir had never seen her like this. "I hardly knew Savos or Mirabelle, I shan't lie, but Savos was a man I could highly respect for welcoming a Thalmor in his College, maintaining his views for the College to be a place of learning, void of politics, which included tolerating the presence of a Thalmor, no matter how he, or anyone, felt about them.

"We've all seen, felt and experienced the Eye's wicked influence. You've seen what it has done to us and to him. No one deserves that…" Cirilonde felt a certain satisfaction when Faralda broke her gaze from Cirilonde. They would hear it. They would know. "You worry he'll talk to the Thalmor? He won't. Do you have  _any_  idea what would happen to him if his superiors found out he failed his mission and let slip the Eye of Magnus into the hands of the Psijic, killing two people in the process,  _out of his control_ , because he was possessed?"

Everyone was silent. Not because Cirilonde was threatening them or because she was intimidating, but finally, she had spoken and after what she had done and achieved, she had gained an immense amount of respect from everyone in the College., even if they frowned upon her sparing Ancano’s life, for which they now would hear the reason.  
   
"My brother was a Thalmor…" she finally said. Her nails dug into the Staff of Magnus. "He was to guard one of the Wise with his life. He failed...and paid with his life. I still hear his screams. I still smell the blood…” She bit her lip. “I still remember crying for mercy and no one would hear it as they made me and my parents watch. First they gauged his eyes out. Then broke whatever bones they could before they let the horses carry him off to let him bleed to death for the beasts to feed on…"

Silence. Had it been able too, Ganir's heart would have broken _. No one_ deserved to suffer such a death, let stand be forced to witness it.

"Have you condemned me for discovering the Eye of Magnus? Have you been enraged at Savos for bringing that damnable thing here? Have you looked at yourselves for not intervening, but instead, I was left to do so with Ganir? You have  _no_  right..." Each and every one of them nodded solemnly. She was right. "Yes, he will hold a grudge. Most likely, he will be enraged, but Ancano will cooperate because he will have  _no._ Other. Choice. So you can either deal with one Thalmor, or deal with a legion because we've killed one of their own. They would raze the College to the ground, tear the Augur to shreds. They will stop at _nothing_ to find what they wish on the Eye of Magnus or the staff. "

Cirilonde's eyes seemed to dare them all to contradict her. In brief moments she wasn’t taking care of Ancano, she had heard the hushed whispers and criticism and endured their relentless pressure and questions. She’d had enough as she’d been pushed well beyond her limits. Finally, having spoken her mind at last, she seemed to calm down some. "Now that this is settled, I have a solution we can put to work when Ancano recovers, unless anyone wishes to voice any criticism or objections?"

_Wo meyz wah dii vul junaar?_ Who dares enter my dark kingdom?  
_Nivahriin muz fent siiv aaz het!_ Cowards shan’t find mercy here!

 


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Have I ever failed you, my Lord Exarch?" The Bosmer that stood behind Taurmillan was shrouded in dark attire, her eyes marked with coal and her face lined with traditional, assassin tattoos. She was almost like Taurmillan's shadow, save for the panther-like, green eyes that gave her away as they stood out.

**Chapter 10**

Arenthia was a city in the north-east of Valenwood that was situated on the banks of the Strid River, close to the borders of Cyrodiil and Elsweyr. The multi-cultural city in the Reaper's March was a perfect location for both trade and diplomatic purposes which Taurmillan had indulged in quite frequently, which resulted in the construction of a fine, Altmer-style estate for himself amidst what he thought to be the primitive structures of Khajitti, Bosmer and Imperial influence.

_Unorganized rabble_ …He folded his hands behind his back as he peered over the inner courtyard of his estate where his men practiced their skill in sword and spell.  _None of these pathetic, inbred humans and beasts could ever hope to possess our people's grace or skill._  
  
He looked at his general; a noble, fellow Mer of high birth, named Thorelas. "All preparations are in order as you desired, my Lord Exarch," said the general as he removed his helmet. In comparison, Thorelas was a battle-scarred, broad and strong High Elf, whereas Taurmillan was slender and lithe, clad in exquisite and elaborate silk robes that shimmered in the sun-light that peeked through the dense foliage of Valenwood's trees. Like his father, his gloved hands were adorned with gemmed and enchanted rings. "If you do not mind my bold inquiry, any news yet of your bride to-be?"

"Father made the mistake of crossing me for the last time," said Taurmillan with a scowl. "I take you handled the situation as I desired?"

"But of course, Lord Exarch. The evidence has been planted to direct the Thalmor to the Beautiful. Two birds with one stone I say. The less of that scum to contend with, the better." Thorelas looked at his men as well. He could not wait for the grand part he would soon play in his Lord's plans.

"From what Sylva gathered, the agents my father erroneously sent to dispatch her, were killed. They got caught in some skirmish with those clods of the Empire and those barbarian rebels of Ulfric's. From there, the track goes cold, coupled with vague, typical drunken Nord rumors of dragons," Taurmillan pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance.  _Dragons. Preposterous._  "The College has been anything but cooperative either on disclosing information about their attendants. I will make sure their Arch-Mage will not make that mistake again when I get there."

"I wish to caution you for Lady Elenwen, however, my Lord." Thorelas glanced sideways at his superior, trying to pinpoint whether he would hear more of it or not. "If she caught wind of your plans…"

"I will take care of her. She will not have a foot to stand on once  _I_  set foot in Skyrim and raze that damned College to the ground for their defiance. Once Cirilonde and I are wed, I'll have full access to her father's little businesses and diplomatic ties. We should be able to march freely where we wish to and make conquest of our own, starting with Skyrim."

"And my men will be ready, Lord Exarch." Thorelas placed his fist on his chest, proud of his Lord and eager for the battles to come. First Skyrim, then Morrowind. All would submit to their new Lord of the Dominion. "It has been too long since our people reminded the lesser races of our supremacy on the fields of battle."

"My Lord Exarch."

Taurmillan did not even glance over his shoulder to address the Bosmer. "I hope for your sake that you have good news."

"Have I ever failed you, my Lord Exarch?" The Bosmer that stood behind Taurmillan was shrouded in dark attire, her eyes marked with coal and her face lined with traditional, assassin tattoos. She was almost like Taurmillan's shadow, save for the panther-like, green eyes that gave her away as they stood out.

Thorelas needed not be dismissed. He bowed his head to his Lord and left, so he could read the contents of the letter the Bosmer slipped into Taurmillan's grasp.

_"Dear Lord Gravia,_

_I regret to inform you I can currently be of no further assistance as to your inquiry due to unfamiliarity with the past correspondence between you and Arch-Mage Savos Aren. May Arkay preserve his soul, for he has recently passed._

_If you wish for the College to be of further assistance with whatever information or aid you require, feel free to respond and we shall be at your disposal where able._

_I hope to have informed you adequately._

_Regards,_  
_Cirilonde Valanocke, Advisor of the College of Winterhold."_

Sylva had not seen such a sincere smile play on her Lord's lips in such a long time it scared her.  
  
"How...unfortunate for the Arch-Mage to have met his end." Taurmillan was disappointed. He wanted to strangle this Savos Aren himself that his agent had to resort to forging correspondence to obtain the information he needed. A tedious waste of his time and resources. "Anything else of use?"

"Oh, my Lord, you will be quite interested…" The Bosmer's lips curled now, baring her canines.  
  
  
  


"Hey…Wake up. Why are you shaking? Cirilonde! Hey, you're dreaming. Wake up!" Though he woke with a start, bathed in cold sweat, Ancano saw nothing. His body tingled, no,  _burned_  and his mind was hazy but he noticed right away that aside from his lack of vision, he was severed from his connection to the arcane as he made to lunge at the Dark Elf, who caught his hand mid-air when he made to cast, but nothing happened. "Calm down. I don't mean you any harm."

"Why can't I see? What did you do to me?" Ancano wasn't sure where the Dark Elf was, and had he been able to see, Ganir's look of concern would have been must uncharacteristic given his opinion of Ancano.

"We didn't do this to you-,"

"I demand to know what the meaning of this is!" Ancano's keen hearing was perfectly fine and though he could not see, he looked in the direction where Cirilonde's voice had come from, startled when her hands cupped his face. He caught her scent; a subtle hint of jasmine, crushed herbs and paper.

"I'm not going to hurt you." Her voice was soft and her touch tender. "Let me look at you."

"Keep your hands off me, wretch!" He made the move to slap her hands away, but she had already pulled them away as if burned. She had been taken aback, scared of the teal, wicked haze over Ancano's eyes, which was the cause of his blindness. It was as though there were another pair of eyes over Ancano's that stared back at her. "Where is the Arch-Mage?!"

"He's dead." She replied with a furrowed brow, deeply troubled and nodded at Ganir before standing up and walking away. The Dark Elf looked at the Thalmor, who had moved his hands to his pounding, aching head.

"It wasn't entirely your fault, if that's of any comfort." He said to him.

"The Eye…The Midden…I demand an explanation." Ancano's temper flared again when no response came. "Well? Answer me!"

"Tell him, Ciri. He clearly doesn't remember a damned thing." Ganir shook his head in disbelief.

"Do you even remember  _anything_  at all besides going into the Midden to see the Augur?" Cirilonde asked.

"The last vivid memory I have is of a certain  _mongrel_  stabbing me down." Ancano spat, pointing in the direction where Ganir would be. He was close enough as Ganir stood leaning against the wall near the former Arch-Mage's bed. "Of course I have no recollection. Would I be inquiring otherwise?"

"This  _mongrel_  would have done much more, so I suggest you watch your tongue before I reconsider." Ganir growled but refrained from punching the High Elf though he made the move to do so.

"Ganir, let me…please, no need to antagonize him," Cirilonde urged for him to calm down and returned to Ancano’s side, who smelled a mixture of herbs and other ingredients. "Go get Master Tolfdir, I'll be fine."

"Not like he can do anything," Ganir snorted as he walked off.

Ancano grit his teeth and made to retort when Cirilonde put her hand on his. "I don't approve, but understand he is angry, and rightfully so." She had resorted to the Altmer tongue. It made her voice sound more graceful, rich and he could distinguish the clear, highborn accent.

It made him wonder who she  _really_  was. Whatever had happened, the moment he was stabbed by the Dark Elf, he remembered the pure anguish quite vividly, and it didn't stem from the dagger's enchantments. And yet, here he was, alive and well, no doubt because of her skill in the arts of Restoration.

"If it's rightful, then again, I am still awaiting an explanation." He replied in the same tongue as hers.

"Very well." She told him everything from the moment the Eye of Magnus was brought to the College, which soon held everyone in its grasp, including Ancano, who had begun to act strange, which eventually led to his possession by the Eye. Midway her tale, he clung to his head as a terrible pain began to tear at his scalp, clawing at his brains. As she spoke, memories flashed before his eyes of terrible shrieks, bright lights and the faces of the College's inhabitants. He could see Savos Aren reach for him with a pleading look and though he sounded angry, it was clear the old Dunmer meant to help, but it was too late. He couldn’t break free.

"Don't exert yourself…" She was gentle with him and he wanted to be angry at her for it but he knew that aside from the fact he simply couldn't as he was blind and unable to cast, it wouldn't help his situation either and so, he let her cast her spells. The song-like, melodious incantations slowly but surely took away the pain that beat down on him and soothed his very being. His eyes felt heavy and fell shut as a peaceful warmth came over him.

Cirilonde looked up at Master Tolfdir and Ganir who had entered. "Is he out again?"

"I knew he wouldn't be at his best if he awoke, but it seems the Eye has deprived him of his eyesight and connection to the arcane." Cirilonde swept the silver-white locks of hair from his face.  _I would be terrified if I awoke blind and severed from my magicka…_

"Well, that should make him less of a problem to deal with at least," Ganir said dryly, raising a brow at Cirilonde's glare. "Don't tell me you actually feel sorry for him."

"I do, actually." She snapped. "Magic is a part of us. We are a magical people. To be torn from that after so many years is as though your hands are severed from you. And he is  _blind_. Auri-El knows if it is permanent."

"Ganir is right, though," Tolfdir said, though by his expression it was clear he understood Cirilonde's empathy. "It should make it a lot easier for us to handle Ancano. The last thing we need is an angry Thalmor out for vengeance."

"I don't think he will be out for vengeance, he knows it was his own doing." Cirilonde spoke with more confidence than she felt. He had been more venomous than usual.

"And how are you so sure?" Ganir quipped skeptically. "He seemed rather keen on burning my face right off when he woke up."

Cirilonde shook her head and sighed. "Surely you can comprehend his…pride…arrogance, call it what you will. But he will  _never_ admit that he underestimated the Eye and nearly destroyed the College. And again, he woke blind and without magic. Give him time and give me time, which means no snide wise-cracks from you because that's really not helping."

"I won't be around to make them," Ganir fiddled with the golden ring that pierced his ear. "I'm leaving-,"

"You are  _what_?!" Cirilonde's exclamation alarmed Ganir and he immediately raised his hands as her temper flared.  _How can he even think of leaving right now?!_ She thought.

"I'm not leaving permanently. Calm down." His hands squeezed her shoulders to try and reassure her and looked into her eyes. Her temper had been replaced for an expression of fear and hurt. "I spoke with Tolfdir about this. He has no problems with it, especially now that we know Ancano isn't as dangerous at the moment, but, after Whiterun…"

"Surely you're not thinking of actually…" She protested.

"I know I said I didn't want to get involved with any of it, but, it's been gnawing at me," Ganir ran a hand through his hair as he sought for the right words, hoping he made sense to her. "Especially after everything that happened, I just feel like something is calling me still."

Cirilonde sighed again, her eyes glancing from Ancano to the old Nord and Dark Elf before her.

"We should be fine, child." Tolfdir assured her.

"I have no place to decline." She admitted. "You have been adamant about leaving ever since that damned thing appeared and I would be selfish to deny you after all you've done for me and the College, for which we cannot thank you enough." Tolfdir nodded in agreement. Cirilonde had stood her ground well, but everyone knew that she wouldn't have been able to do it without Ganir's help.

"I will be back, I promise." He held her tight, glad she understood.

"You have a week. I  _will_  come looking for you to tear any dragon or Thalmor to shreds." She hugged him back. "You should go. Now."

Ganir indeed wasted no time and after a brief goodbye, he walked down the steps, out to the Courtyard and rode off on Tormagg. Cirilonde watched him from the windows of the Arch-Mage's quarters until he was a mere dot in the distance past Winterhold.

"You worry." Tolfdir, who had stood by her side, looked up at her with an understanding smile. "He's a man in his own right who needs to take care of his business. You couldn't have stopped him even if you wished, but he insisted on your blessing."

"I know, which is exactly why I worry," she looked at Ancano over her shoulder, whose face occasionally contorted into a pained grimace.

"The Masters have succeeded in convincing the Jarl that Winterhold to follow our plan that the College was attacked by rogue mages from Fellglow Keep who sought revenge on the Arch-Mage and Mirabelle for expelling them," Tolfdir continued. "As you suggested, we planted evidence and helped spread rumors accordingly. It's so simple it might just work."

"It should raise no further cause for alarm or interest from the Thalmor and keep them off our back, though I have no idea what they could possibly want with us or from us in the first place. Though…" They both looked at the Staff of Magnus, which lay on the Arch-Mage's desk. "We will have to make sure no one ever finds out about its existence. Surely, even Ancano realizes this."

"After what he's been through. I shan't lie to you, dear, I had my doubts, but I think he does."

"Let us hope I was right, then."

 

Initially, he had been hesitant to leave the College, but the further he rode, the more at comfort Ganir felt. He had not hated being there, save for the events that transpired, but he had never stayed at one place for too long, and while he was safe, he didn't want to make a habit out of it aside from the fact he could no longer deny the Greybeards' call to come to High Hrothgar.

The Arcaneum had been most useful in providing information, as would be expected. Apparently, the Greybeards were an ancient order of honored monks who sought to live peaceful lives in silence in their monastery near the summit of the Throat of the World, adhering to the Way of the Voice founded by Jurgen Windcaller after the Nord's army defeat at the Battle of Red Mountain.

Now that he was alone, he also had the benefit of being able to travel without having to stop for base necessities such as food or rest, save for the roan Tormagg, but nevertheless, he had arrived in Ivarstead within a day and now stood before the bridge that led up the Seven Thousand Steps to High Hrothgar.

"Never thought I'd go on a pilgrimage," he muttered to himself as he dismounted Tormagg and walked across the bridge, where he stood for a moment to stare up the mountain that stood lonesome in the middle of the land, almost scraping the sky and piercing the clouds. After leaving Tormagg in a farmer's care while he was gone, he made his way up the steps and the higher he climbed, the more dangerous it became.

The winds were merciless in beating down on him, and if he didn't watch his step, surely would knock him off the slippery steps and possibly send him tumbling to his death…were he mortal, but he wasn't eager to test the stretch of his immortality and pressed on while the words on the etched tablet emblems one by one, were found along the way.

" _Before the birth of Men, the Dragons ruled all Mundus. Their word was the Voice and they spoke only for True Need, for the Voice could blot out the sky and flood the land._  
Men were born and spread over the face of Mundus. The Dragons presided over the crawling masses. Men were weak then, and had no Voice.  
The fledgling spirits of Men were strong in Old Times, unafraid to war with Dragons and their Voices, but the Dragons only Shouted them down and broke their hearts.  
Kyne called on Paarthurnax, who pitied Man. Together they taught Men to use the Voice. Then Dragon War raged, Dragon against Tongue.  
Man prevailed, shouting Alduin out of the world, proving for all that their Voice was too strong. Although their sacrifices were many-fold.  
With roaring Tongues, the Sky-Children conquer, founding the First Empire with Sword and Voice, whilst the Dragons withdrew from this World.  
The Tongues at Red Mountain went away humbled. Jurgen Windcaller began His Seven Year Meditation to understand how Strong Voices could fail. Jurgen Windcaller chose silence and returned. The Seventeen disputants could not shout Him down. Jurgen the Calm built His home on the Throat of the World. For years all silent, the Greybeards spoke one name; Tiber Septim, stripling then, was summoned to Hrothgar. They blessed and named him Dovahkiin. The Voice is worship. Follow the Inner path. Speak only in True Need."

He stood before the enormous, stone structure that looked more like a Keep than a monastery, but the ancient carvings, tattered banners and weathered stone indicated otherwise. At first, he had thought they were statues, but there stood five men, clad in scaled, grey leather and hooded robes.

The man in the center was tallest, and perhaps the oldest of the five. "So…a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age."

The men stared down at him, which gave Ganir the chills, yet, not of discomfort, but of familiarity. The winds seemed to halt to a calm when closing in on the Greybeards, who seemed unmoved by the cold, no doubt used to it. "I'm answering your summons," he finally said.

"Before we allow you to enter our Halls, we will see if you truly have the gift," said the man in the middle again. "So, show us, Dragonborn. Let us taste of your Voice."

Initially, Ganir thought the old monk meant to hear his voice, but then realized he meant the Dragon language he had read about. Though he knew no words save for those spoken by Mirmulnir, he suddenly remembered the word from that strange wall. The very moment that word came to mind, he inhaled, chest humming with energy as it escaped his lips. " _Fus._ "

He had not raised his voice, but the invisible power of the Word sent the snow in a flurry and the robes of the monks fluttered in the wake of it.

They all smiled, glancing at each other. "Dragonborn, it  _is_  you." Said the man in the center. "Welcome to High Hrothgar. I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards. Now tell me, Dragonborn, why have you come here?"

"You called for me after I killed the dragon in Whiterun," said Ganir. "I don't even know why I'm here, and I've tried to deny it, but I want to find out what it means to be Dragonborn."

Arngeir nodded and seemed to understand his reasoning. "We are here to guide you in that pursuit, just as the Greybeards have sought to guide those of the Dragon Blood that came before you. We are honored to welcome you to High Hrothgar and we will do our best to teach you how to use your gift in fulfillment of your destiny."

"Destiny?" Ganir raised a brow. Surely he wasn't the first Dragonborn from what he had read. Granted, they had achieved great things, but he wasn't about to conquer all of Tamriel.

"It is as obscure to us as it is to you, no doubt," said Arngeir. "We can but show you the Way, but not your destination, though you have already made your first step. You have shown that you are Dragonborn to us. You have the inborn gift. It remains to be seen if you have the discipline and temperament to follow the path laid out for you.

"Come, and enter."

 


	12. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I should have known that this is exactly why you think you can set right your failures. Whoever the fool was, if he paid with his life, he was a waste to the Thalmor ranks to begin with.” He spat. “I don't know what dense ideals that you possess to think you can change the world for the better somehow, yet it is so fitting for someone such as yourself because it's the only way you could hope to feel good about yourself, because you are nothing otherwise."

**Chapter 11**

By the time Ancano woke again, he had no clue what time it was, but it was silent, save for that when he sat up, he felt Cirilonde's hand press against his chest. "You're safe. Try to not exert yourself too much."

He had tensed up visibly as he felt his skin burn. "What is this…!" He hissed, no longer able to suppress the pain though he didn't want to show. Auri-El knew why he had tried not to.

Rather than answer, she began to cast. Initially, he recoiled, but her hand gripped his arm firmly. The golden glow he could not see touched his skin. He snarled and dug the fingers of his free hand into the wooden frame of the bed and his other hand's nails dug into her skin while the scars all over his body lit up, burning into his flesh, but finally, it stopped. "What did you do…" He grit out, panting and angry with her.

"Let go." She jerked her hand free from his grip, taking a sharp breath. "I wasn't trying to hurt you. I was trying to  _help_  you."

He felt a warm liquid seep over the palm of his hand and realized he had drawn blood from her. "You should have told me then."

"I have been telling you from the moment you woke up!" She snapped, wrapping a rag around her arm. She hadn't the energy to heal it and would have to wait. "Auri-El, why must you make it so hard for me?"

"I didn't ask you," he grumbled, not sure how to feel about having hurt her. Deep down, he did want to be angry with her, but couldn't, but wasn't sure why. He had a lot to think about in general.

She muttered something under her breath and joined his side again. "Can I wash your face or are you going to claw my eyes out?" He let out an irritable sigh. Had he been able too, he would've glared at her. She sighed. "Sorry…It's been a long night." Her hand gently held his cheek and he felt the cold cloth wash away the sweat and  foul, magical residue.

"Why am I blind, still and what is this…burning on my skin?" He finally asked.

"I…have no exact confirmation as to  _what_  it is, save for the effects," she replied. "When Ganir broke your connection to the Eye-,"

"He  _stabbed_  me," he interrupted with a growl.

Judging by the silence, she had glared at him for interrupting her, but then carried on. "The moment your connection to the Eye was broken, it seems the Eye left a sort…mark on you. Though the scarring has lessened, its effects still linger and act up when you strain yourself."

"And the blindness?"

"I've looked at them, but I've not really been able to determine what and how." The tips of her long, white-golden locks of hair tickled his skin and he caught himself inhaling her scent. When her fingers made to wipe the stray locks from his face, he shifted and turned his face away from her touch. Initially, she didn't understand, but realized that while he had been unconscious and taken care of him and his wounds, she had formed an odd, almost caring habit, she realized now, of brushing a few stubborn, stray locks of his hair from his face once she was done. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cross a line."

"Just…leave me be." He growled, pinching the bridge of his nose.  
  
He heard but the rustle of her robes, but her scent lingered minutes after she had left. He tried to ease his mind as weariness kicked in, but his sleep was restless.

This greatly worsened his mood, but to top it off, seemingly only a few hours later, he heard people enter.

"I finally got her to retreat for the night…or, well…It was bloody six in the morn when I found her asleep on my books. My  _books_!" Urag exclaimed the last part. "I don't even know what's gotten into her to even…Yeah, yeah, I know, we've been over it."

"She believes it's the right thing to do and while everyone's opinion on the matter has been duly noted, she has also made her most valid arguments on the matter, which I recall we closed." Tolfdir said in a stern voice. "Now, unless you have something else…"

Ancano refrained from snorting.  _Typical_. He sat up as quietly as possible to make sure the old Nord didn't hear him as he was in no mood to endure him.  _Should've known she couldn't live with blood on her hands._

Despite the annoying scribbling of Tolfdir's quill on parchment and the occasional humming, Ancano managed to clear his mind some as he listened to the Dwemer clockwork's tick and tock.

His mind struggled to grasp a clear picture of everything that had occurred despite being told.

All he could make out, were the vivid, brief ones, where Savos Aren tried to reach out to him, followed by the soul-tearing, pure anguish he felt surging through his body when the connection to the Eye was broken by that damn vampire, who then shortly after buried one of his daggers in his shoulder.

Subconsciously, he had reached for it. The wound was no longer there. He remembered his confusion when he remembered, or so he thought, so clearly, that Ganir's other dagger was about to be plunged into his chest. Yet, suddenly, she had stood in front of him and grabbed hold of the dagger and stopped Ganir from killing him.

Somewhere, deep down, he wanted to be angry with her, but found it hard too. Thanks to her, he was still alive and had mended his wounds despite his actions and affiliation with the Thalmor.  
He would also probably never admit it to anyone, but in all the years he had worked with magical trinkets and the sort, this had to be the first time he had most likely made an error in lowering his guard. The Eye had not been an enchanted blade or another sort of inanimate object with a set cause or effect, but it had been intelligent…immensely intelligent and wicked.

All this, was his own fault and it had cost the College dearly. Not that he cared for Mirabelle. The woman had thwarted and scorned him at every turn possible. Savos Aren, however, seemed a different matter. Though he didn't see eye to eye with the old Dunmer, the former Arch-Mage had treated him with respect, patience and tolerance. And for a Dunmer, he had to admit, he was quite competent despite his aloof demeanor.

The more he pondered, the more he realized he was not just angry at himself, but he was angry at Cirilonde, who may have claimed she knew the consequences for him, but not the impact it made on him. A simple reconnaissance and diplomatic mission had exploded into a disaster, where a powerful, ancient artefact had fallen into the hands of the Psijic and he had killed two people (though not entirely on his own volition) in the process.  _They saved me just so they could have me killed by my own peers to save their own hides…Well, speak of the devil._

"Ah, Cirilonde. I assume you had your proper rest?" Tolfdir looked up from his work.

"I have. Thank you, Arch-Mage." She still sounded tired, though.

"No need to be formal, child. I assume you came for him?" Tolfdir held no grudge or spite in his voice when he referred to Ancano, much to  the High Elf’s surprise.

"I have," she replied. "I figured he would be hungry."

"That's all fine, dear. I'll leave you to it, then."

"Doing your good deed for the day, hrm?" He spat sarcastically as she laid the tray of food on his bed.

"No, I'm just fattening you up for when Ganir comes back," she shot back. "Unless you feel more inclined to starve."

"Depends on whether the food is poisoned or not. Given the remarks I 'so happened' to have overheard while our Arch-Mage and your 'colleagues' thought I slept, I wouldn't put it past them." He almost spilled the goblet of wine, but grabbed it in time.  _You did this on purpose, you little wretch. Making me fumble like a fool._

"Oh, don't worry, if I had wanted you dead, you would've been. Also, ‘ _you're welcome, Ancano_ ’." She had meant to try and make amends for crossing a line and be more thoughtful, but the moment he made his first remark, she felt rather satisfied with watching him fumble. She turned on her heel and left the Arch-Mage's Quarters.

"You had that one coming." Said Tolfdir dryly.

Had he been so strong, his hand would no doubt have been able to  _crush_  the goblet in his hand.

The following days were as 'becoming' as they had been and Cirilonde was happy to find distraction wherever and whenever possible. After delving through countless books, she decided that perhaps it was wisest to ask Colette for help. Given that it regarded Ancano, however, she knew she had to butter the old woman up a bit and decided to assist her in a lesson on turning the undead.

It was a nice distraction and once the session was over, the students gathered their belongings to head up to the Forum for lunch. Cirilonde waited to approach Colette, who turned to face her. "I could tell right away you wanted something from me, so tell me what it is you need." Colette didn't sound begrudging like she often did. Few people took her lessons seriously. Cirilonde, however, had studied the arts for many years, so there wasn't much left for Colette to teach the young High Elf.

"I know how you feel about the situation, but I had a question about Ancano," Cirilonde started, clearly frustrated. She had yet to determine what irritated her more; the Thalmor or his seemingly uncurable affliction. "I was wondering if you could perhaps provide me some insight to his current state."

"So I heard." Colette genuinely felt sorry for Cirilonde as all her efforts were taken for granted by Ancano. A certain argument between the two had been quite audible and left a tension in the air. "Forgive me if I don't seem to too sympathetic, but he's been demeaning of my lessons, calling them 'sub-par' and 'about as useful as a child's tale'. Quite ironic, if you think about it, that you're not here to seek me out in the hopes of finding something to cure whatever ails his eyes or has caused his separation from the arcane. "

"So you don't have a suspicion what it may or may not be?" Cirilonde's heart sank. She had tried everything within her own, rather extensive knowledge and that found in the Arcaneum, but after all her efforts had rendered no results, she no longer knew what to do. It wasn't really improving Ancano's mood either, who had grown more and more insufferable to be around as no doubt his pride suffered the greatest wound of all, given that he was fully dependent on Cirilonde's care.

"I myself, do not." Colette gave Cirilonde an encouraging squeeze in the shoulder, feeling sorry for the High Elf. "But I could suggest you see the Augur of Dunlain."

"The Augur of Dunlain?" Cirilonde quirked a brow.  _Interesting…how could he help?_

"When he was…well, more physically alive, he was a grandmaster in the arts of Restoration. Not a fact generally known, I must add, and he'd like it to stay that way. No doubt he could provide you some insight where I cannot," said Colette, who then sighed, looking up at the High Elf. "I must say, Cirilonde, it's…been quite eventful. A lot to take in. But, if it hadn't been for you, Divines know what could have happened to all of us."

"There's still quite the way to go," Cirilonde said. "But thank you for your help. It's most appreciated."

They parted ways and Cirilonde walked into the Hall of Countenance but this time, there was no need to sneak around and she descended into the Midden once more. She hoped that if she found him, the Augur would see her, but he was there already, waiting. The light that carried his presence floated peacefully through the dim, wicked hallows of the Midden.

"You have but postponed the inevitable," he finally said as if torn from his musings after he had listened to her description of Ancano's state. "Yet, here you are again in pursuit of knowledge and to what end? Do not mistake my skepticism for a grudge, but had it not been for Ancano, none of this would have transpired, nor would we have suffered the terrible losses we have."

"As insufferable as he's been, I don't think it fair to judge Ancano just by this incident alone, which was out of all of our control. What befell him could've happened to anyone." Cirilonde wasn't sure where to look in the light as she sought for his response to her words. "Most importantly, we need to focus on healing the College, lest we all suffer."

Judging by the silent hum, the Augur was contemplating her words. "You came for his healing. Aside from the Eye leaving its mark on him for his arrogant and misguided pursuits, I cannot help you help him, lest he humble himself to seek me out on his own accord and ask."

"You aim to teach him a lesson." Cirilonde stood still.  _That's a bit cruel. Even for him. Though, deserved, I suppose._

"Perhaps…if you let him know." The schadenfreude was audible in the Augur's voice. Cirilonde sighed. Given his personality and recent mood, it was most unlikely Ancano would ever ask anyone for help. Yet, she had to try.

"Thank you for your help. I shall do my best." Cirilonde bowed to him.

"As you have," echoed the Augur's voice as he seeped into the nothingness and they parted ways.

Cirilonde didn't feel compelled to return to the Arch-Mage's quarters right away as she had to mull things over and walked over the battlements that surrounded the College. The view, regardless of what direction, never ceased to be breathtaking. During the morning, the rays of sunlight would caress the sea's waves, whereas during the day, if not storming, the skies were clear and she could see far away. And at night, she loved the view the most, as the Northern Lights seemed to dance with the stars.

Regardless of how the conversation was to go, if Ganir hadn't returned by morning, she would leave to go look for him, if the weather permitted it, that was. The skies were grim today and clouds had gathered over the course of the day as if a dark foreboding. A storm would be coming soon.

If not from the skies, it would be Ancano's temper, which certainly would flare and thunder through the halls of the College. With a sigh of reluctance, she decided she would have to tell him either way, as she had promised, and returned to the Arch-Mage's quarters. There, Tolfdir was sat at the desk with Ancano, who rubbed his temples, clearly annoyed by the old Nord.

They had been working on a report to Ancano's superior's most likely, and if this all worked out, Ancano would take up the mantle of Master Wizard and she would function as the College's advisor. That way, it would seem that Ancano had gained the College's trust.

"I think I made myself rather clear upon reciting my report to you. You are pushing the limits of my patience!" Ancano growled and pinched the bridge of his nose. His fingers drummed on the wooden armrest of the chair he was sat in. He donned his Thalmor robes again, refusing to wear anything else. "There can be absolutely  _no_  flaws or leave room for questions. They  _will_  notice, I assure you."

"Very well, as you wish…" Tolfdir sighed. When he saw Cirilonde, he was thankful for the distraction her arrival provided. "Ah, Cirilonde, I heard you have been quite busy."

"Arch-Mage Tolfdir," Cirilonde inclined her head. "Can I have a moment with Ancano, please?"

"But of course, child." Tolfdir stood up and made no attempt to hide his relief he could be freed from the irritable, blind High Elf. He whispered a 'good luck' to Cirilonde in passing and left the Quarters.

Cirilonde had walked up to the desk, her eyes scanning the attempts at the forged reports. Ancano was right. They looked far too inadequate, where short, to-the-point facts were required that left no room for further questioning or doubt for its credibility.

Ancano ran a hand through his silver-white hair. "By Auri-El I hope you have good news and leave me be," he growled.

She took a deep breath to refrain from a remark and let his slide. Tolfdir was a wonderful, gentle old man, but indeed, could be excruciatingly stubborn and tiring at times. Perhaps it had not been the best idea to let Tolfdir work on the forged report with Ancano. "After our last…discussion," she cleared her throat as it had been an explosive argument rather than anything else. "I've taken the liberty to approach Mistress Colette…Don't you 'Oh Auri-El' me!" she snapped when he made a condescending remark about Colette's credibility as a teacher. "She referred me to the Augur of Dunlain, who appears to have been a grandmaster in the arts of Restoration back when he was…physically alive."

"And?"

_Here it comes…_ she winced. This wasn't going to go over well no matter how she put it. "He is willing to help you…if you seek him out and ask him yourself."

She stiffened, startled, when he shot to his feet and nearly sent the chair flying in the process. "You would have me  _grovel_  for aid before the Augur?" His voice was barely a whisper as he trembled in silent rage. "For days on end now-,"

"That is  _not_  what I said. He wants you to come to him and I can help you-,"

" _Help_?!" He spat, indignant. "You must be so satisfied with yourself." His voice had lowered again to a silken, cold and venomous tone. "Have you even  _once_  pondered the consequences for anyone other than yourself by sparing my life just because you thought it was the 'noble' or 'right' thing to do?"

"It perhaps never crossed your mind that your selfish, disgusting need for a clear conscience would have consequences? Do you have  _any_  idea what they would do to me if they find out what transpired here?!"

Cirilonde had never been so afraid of him and winced as his words lashed at her. She was thankful he could not see the loss of her composure and gathered herself. She had to try and smooth this over. "It's why I want to help you, Ancano. You were suffering…and I … I know what they would do to you. Anciel was a Thalmor and he paid with his life!"

"I should have known that this is exactly why you think you can set right your failures. Whoever the fool was, if he paid with his life, he was a waste to the Thalmor ranks to begin with.” He spat. “I don't know what dense ideals that you possess to think you can change the world for the better somehow, yet it is so fitting for someone such as yourself because it's the only way you could hope to feel good about yourself, because you are  _nothing_ otherwise _._ "

Cirilonde felt each and every word and syllable dig into her very being as his words lashed at her. She stood trembling, tears rolling down her cheeks. She wasn't sure what she felt as he mercilessly tore at the very core of her person and had she not been so tired after all the effort she put into helping him, only to receive this as a thanks… _They were right…_

"That you think of me like this…Very well." She dug her nails deep into the palms of her skin as she struggled to maintain her voice without betraying her feelings. She refused to let him have that satisfaction. "I hope when your superiors find out what you've done, they make you suffer, because no one will not protect you from their wrath. Where my brother heard cries of mercy, you shall hear nothing."

_Her brother…_  Ancano had stiffened. Her brother had been a Thalmor? The very moment all pent up rage and frustration had finally reached its boiling point and he had spat his venom, he had calmed down and instantly regretted it. "Cirilonde!" It was too late. She had stormed out.

Cirilonde heard his voice, but paid no heed to it, or her surroundings for that matter as she walked straight past Tolfdir, who had heard everything. The old Nord was briefly caught between going after the distraught High Elf or to rip the other one to shreds. He grit his teeth, furious and bolted up the steps into the Arch-Mage's Quarters to get to the bottom as to what had happened, because this had not been 'just another' argument between the two.

Cirilonde wasted no time nor did she respond to Brelyna's troubled questions, who made broad way for the High Elf when she saw her face. "Cirilonde, wait!"

"I'm done, Brelyna. Goodbye." Was all the High Elf said, slamming the door to the Hall of Attainment shut behind her. She threw what little possessions she had into the saddlebags, climbed on Fiona's back and had the horse gallop off. Her hair whipped her in the face while Fiona's hooves kicked up the freshly fallen snow as the horse stormed over the shaky, stone bridge over the paved path of Winterhold, nearly knocking Faralda and Phinis off their feet as they had come running into Winterhold.

"Cirilonde, come back!" Faralda cried, waving her hands, but Cirilonde had either not heard or ignored Faralda.

_You were right, Ganir. To Oblivion with that heartless wretch and this place. I should never have come here. I'm going to find you and we're going to get far away from here._

 

"You have got to be joking…" Faralda pulled at her hair in exasperation.

"We  _can't_  go get her back. The Jarl's men already know, but they don't know yet at the College. We need to inform them first. There's no time to waste." Phinis pulled the High Elf along, who stumbled as she ran with her colleague on to the College's grounds, up to the Arch-Mage's quarters.

The two Masters froze in their steps as they heard Tolfdir's tirade against Ancano. In all their years at the College, they had never witnessed Tolfdir lose his temper like he did now. "-And this is how you repay her?! After all the things and efforts she went through in spite of all objections and doubts you just confirmed. I hope by  _Talos_ you are truly satisfied with yourself because she. Is. _Gone_!"  
  
Ancano had been slammed into the wall by Tolfdir, who had bolstered his strength by magical means, which seemed unneeded as Ancano didn't even struggle, save for clenching the old Nord's arm which threatened to strangle him.

"I had no intention to hurt her!" he choked out. "If I had known it was her brother…Let. Go!"

"You're not worth killing." Tolfdir spat and let go. He then looked at Faralda and Phinis, who had burst in to stop him from killing the Thalmor. Though they both felt the same anger and inclination, they didn't want to risk the consequences Cirilonde had warned them about. Ancano fell to his knees and gasped for air between a barrage of curses in the Altmer tongue.

"Arch-Mage Tolfdir, we have a problem. The fellow indeed was a damned drunkard, but that dragon he claimed to have seen was definitely no tale. And if Cirilonde is out there in the storm! She could very well run into it because we saw it fly around the coast earlier."

"Oh Talos preserve us…" Tolfdir paled visibly. "We have to secure the College but we have to get Cirilonde back as well. You two need to go get her. I will gather all the students in the Hall of Elements. Let the Jarl know they are welcome to take refuge with us if needed."

Faralda refrained from a sarcastic remark because she doubted the locals would want to be anywhere near the College unless it meant they could tear the place apart, but nodded nevertheless and followed Phinis in his tracks to do as asked. Tolfdir made to do his part, when Ancano called for him.

"What do you want,  _elf_? Haven't you done enough?"

"I am aware…" Ancano raised a hand in defense as he got to his feet, leaning against the wall. "Hear me out." He wasn't sure where the old Nord was and he wanted to be prepared in case he decided to give him another pummeling. He had never felt more vulnerable…or as guilty. "If a dragon is out there, they would be no match. Please, take me to the Augur. If I don't owe it to you, then I owe Cirilonde."  
  
  
  


Cirilonde finally slowed down as Fiona and she were out of breath. Cirilonde looked behind her. Winterhold and its College were but a blurry shadow in the distance now. She ran her fingers through the dappled mare's thick mane after dismounting. "Good girl, Fiona. I'm sorry I let you run so far through all that snow." The wind was lashing at them both from all directions. Aside from wanting to unburden her horse, she needed to stretch her legs and calm down. Her heart was still racing and deep down, she regretted having stormed off. "No turning back now, though," she said as if Fiona understood her, who only shook her head in response. "Ganir was right. It's not our problem." She flicked the frozen tear from her cheek. Ancano's words had hurt her, but now they angered her and fueled her determination.

She squinted her eyes while holding on to the hood of her cloak, which she had enchanted to withstand the cold with Sergius' help. In a short time, a lot of snow had fallen, but the path was still discernable and she took hold of Fiona's reins to continue their way, except, after a short distance, Fiona balked and refused to continue, bristling and snorting.

"I know you liked Tolfdir's treats, Fiona, but I swear, Skyrim's full of carrots and juicy apples." She gave a tug at the reins to get the mare going, who outright refused to budge. "Oh come  _on,_  you stubborn…!"

She froze. Did that hill to their side just growl? Silence, save for the howling wind. _  
_ She turned to Fiona again, who still skittered on her hooves as she protested and wanted nothing more than to leave, whinnying in protest.

In the flash of a moment it happened, to Cirilonde, it felt as though time was slowed. In the instant that Fiona had whinnied and reared, the pile of snow cracked and crumbled as a large pair of eyes opened and enormous, leathery wings unfolded. As she stumbled back to avoid Fiona's hooves, who stormed off to the College, Cirilonde was left alone to face a dragon. The beast was larger than the dragon, Mirmulnir, they had faced in Whiterun, but not as large as the one from Helgen. Its scales held a blue hue, lined with icicles and snow-crystals. Large, curled horns protruded from its head that followed the dragon's jawline, from which smaller horns protruded.

Cirilonde's eyes went wide in horror as the beast raised itself to its full size with wings spread before craning its neck so it could glare at her with one eye. "Hi los mey wah vodremt dii lag, fahliil." It growled. "Vogluuskei fah hi, Zu'u tul bahlok."

When it snapped its jaws at her, Cirilonde raised a barrier of snow and ice that slammed into the dragon's head. Snarling, the dragon snapped its jaws shut on the spear of ice Cirilonde had hurled in its direction, which bought her enough time to run. Except, she didn't see the dragon's tail in time and she was slammed into a wall of snow before falling to the ground. The snow that fell on her chilled her to the bone. As she struggled to recover and regain her footing, the dragon wouldn't have any of her attempts and though she managed to defend herself and duck out of the way, it snapped it's jaws at her and swung its tail menacingly between grunted and roared threats.

A sudden bolt of flame out of nowhere hit the beast's neck, ricocheting off the dragon's scales but as more followed, the dragon was forced to see what fool sought to barrage him.

"Run, Cirilonde!" Faralda cried, while she, Phinis and their summoned atronachs repeatedly flung bolts of flame at the dragon, buying her time to escape.  
Phinis caught the stumbling Altmer, who was out of breath. "I owe you my life!" Cirilonde exclaimed.

"Are you all right?" He yelled his inquiry over the howling wind and the racket of the barrage of spells and the dragon's furious roars as it sought to kill the atronachs that occupied his attention…for now. "Try thanking me again if we make it back to the College. Come on!"

Cirilonde grabbed hold of Faralda's arm and swung herself on the horse's back behind the other High Elf and hung on to her as they hurried back to Winterhold. The problem was, however, that the dragon had seen them flee and it slammed the atronachs into the ice and snow with its wings before taking off after them.

"Jarl Korir is going to kill us!" Faralda shouted at Cirilonde over her shoulder.

"He can't blame us for this!" Cirilonde yelled back. "It's not like we summoned that damn thing!"

The horses' hooves clattered down on the bridge as they crossed it and they leapt off the horses' backs, that immediately bolted into their stables while the two elves and Breton ran for the entrance to the Hall of Elements, but when they saw Ancano and Tolfdir exit the Hall of Countenance and the dragon made a rough landing on the gates, they immediately turned.

"Dragon!" They all screamed, flailing their arms and pointing.

The dragon craned its long neck downwards, between the pillars that supported the walkway above and opened its maw. "Fo Krah Diin!" The stream of ice that burst from the beast's maw completely coated the door to the Hall of Containment in Ice as the Arch-Mage and Thalmor had dove out of its way.

As they made to flee to the Hall of Elements, the dragon's wing talons slammed into the ground, forcing them to maneuver around the beast. With a snarl set on his face, Ancano dove and a blazing inferno shot forth from his hands and shot over the dragon's head.

Cirilonde rushed over to Tolfdir to help him get to safety. "Is everyone safe?!"

"We need to regroup in the Hall of Elements where everyone is before we do anything. Urag is looking into it as we speak!" Tolfdir panted, out of breath. His old age simply wouldn't let his body cooperate, but Cirilonde dragged him along. The Dragon saw and swung its tail against the statue which shattered to pieces. The four mages were forced to split up and dive for cover from the flying debris.

"Over here you pathetic worm!" Ancano snarled. His incantations were swift and he summoned two frost atronachs before hurling a blazing ball of flame at the dragon. The beast craned its head and snarled and destroyed the first Atronach by crushing it between its jaws. It bought Ancano the time and space he needed to gain an advantageous position versus the dragon, who slammed the other Atronach into the wall, destroying it. It was now only Ancano and the dragon, who roared in rage as it struggled to keep up with the High Elven Thalmor. It was an amazing sight to behold, as Ancano's footwork and style of casting wasn't just graceful, but also swift and cunning, leaving no room for fancy, useless displays of bravado. He was truly a master in the arts of Destruction.  
  
"Zu'u fen genun hi wo los lin!" The dragon rammed Ancano with his wing, but the Thalmor made a swift recovery by jumping back to his feet, but the dragon pressured him by snapping its jaws and lashing its talons at him. It wasn't enough to contain Ancano, however, who rolled out of the way and hurled flame and lightning at the beast, who’d finally had enough, opening its maw and roared, "FUS RO DAH!"

The wind was knocked from Ancano's lungs as he was sent flying by the unseen energy. The snow he had so often cursed now broke his landing, but he was forced to back up against the wall as the dragon closed in on him. "I'll enjoy ripping you to pieces, you insolent—" The dragon's head snapped to look behind him. Ancano saw the beast's pupils dilate. "What in-!"

"Ganir!" Cirilonde exclaimed in disbelief as Ganir scaled the dragon's back by grabbing the spines that protruded from the dragon's back. He then leapt and grabbed hold of the horns but the dragon shook its head to get him off. On que, Phinis, Cirilonde and Faralda hurled spell after spell at the dragon, who reared and flailed at its assailants.

"Fus Ro Dah!" There was no time to question how or what Ganir just did, but the moment the words left his lips, the dragon's head was slammed into the tile, followed by a cry of anguish from Ganir himself as the dragon instinctively jerked his head right back up and impaled Ganir on one of his horns in the process. "Nchow s'wit!" was but one of the barrage of Dunmer swearwords that Ganir bellowed. "Why does everything in this damned land insist on impaling or beheading me?!"

"Ganir, hold on!" Cirilonde's powers were by no means matched against Ancano, but when Ancano saw her rush for the horn that had snapped off the dragon's head, he rushed to her side to protect her from the dragon's icy breath. She glared at him but she ducked in time when the dragon opened its maw to devour her and slid over the ice. She grabbed hold of the horn and buried it in the beast's eye and made a run for it. This bought Ganir the time and momentum to pull himself off the dragon's horn and slam both of his daggers through the dragon's thick skull before they both collapsed; the dragon dead and Ganir simply hurt and exhausted.

"Is it…?!" They all stood frozen, save for Cirilonde, who knew what would happen. She slapped Ancano's hand away, who made to stop her as the dragon caught flame and surrounded her and Ganir, who again absorbed the dragon's very being into his own.

"Ganir!" she shook him. "Ganir!"

"Yes. Yes. I'm fine…Urgh…" he groaned and swore after he took a gander at the hole in his abdomen. It was…quite gruesome and unsightly, though he was obviously more displeased over the state of his armor than his body…though, on second thought… "This…hurts."

"By Talos…" Tolfdir was at a loss for words. Nor could anyone else believe their eyes. Ganir, the vampire, was the legendary Dragonborn.

"Could you stop gawking and help me already?!" Cirilonde exclaimed.

**Hi los mey wah vodremt dii lag, fahliil, vogluuskei fah hi, Zu'u tul bahlok**  - You are a fool to disturb my slumber, elf. Unfortunately for you, I am hungry)  
**Zu'u fen genun hi wos lo lin**  – I'll show you who the worm is!  
**Fo Krah Diin -**  The ice-breath shout, logically.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought. It's quite hard to maintain Ancano's character in all honesty without making him swing from one or another dramatic side.


	13. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's just painful to watch an Altmer, of all things, to attempt casting in such a fashion. You're going to blow yourself up at this rate, if not the College."
> 
> "Well, I’d hate to impede on your department of expertise..." Her green eyes held a sparkle of mischief.

**Chapter 12**

Despite Arch-Mage Tolfdir's insistence for her to retreat for the night, Cirilonde felt restless and walked up to the battlements of the College to soothe her mind. It had taken her hours to mend Ganir’s wound, who had finally laid down to rest. Though the skies had cleared, the icy winds still howled as they swept past her. The moons' reflections shimmered in the now dark waters of the sea.

She wasn't alone for long. From the corner of her eye, she watched Ancano approach her but she refused to acknowledge him. Her anger soon simmered down, however. She had never told him about her brother, so he couldn’t have known and he had helped them defeat the dragon.  
  
She heaved an agitated sigh, “What do you want?”   
  
He replied to her in the Altmer tongue, “I would speak with you in regards to what transpired before the dragon’s sudden appearance.”   
  
“You were _grossly_ out of line and suddenly decide on attempting to be civil?” Her fingers clenched the stone and still wouldn’t look at him. “You have _no_ idea how much he suffered. I only meant to help and you threw it in my face.”  
  
She tensed when he came to stand by her side and leaned on the stone as well. He also focused his gaze on the view in the distance. It made it easier for him to speak with her. He was never in one place long enough to witness the consequences of his actions to complete a mission so he chose to not give his mind time to dwell on it. “I’ve wronged you. Greatly. But after everything that’s been thrown at me in spite of recent events being beyond my control…I even doubted your intentions. Had I known, perhaps things would have gone differently. However, I doubt that no matter what you intend to achieve with this…ruse, they will find out and they will have my head for my transgressions.”  
  
His voice and face didn’t show, but she could tell he was deeply troubled by this possibility and understood. “I know you don’t want or need my help or protection, but I understand why you lashed out at me. I knew of the consequences, but didn’t regard them for you as a person. When the Eye released its hold on you, I saw that same fear I’d seen in my brother’s eyes. I just saw history repeating itself and I couldn’t let it happen.”  
   
There was a calculating flicker in his eyes as he listened to her and tugged at his gloves in brief contemplation. It was only then, that finally, she looked at him. “I’ve not been exactly considerate of you, either.”  
  
“The Augur told…reminded me, rather, of the burdens you carried to save the College. Had it not been for you, we all would have been dead.” He reached for a piece of parchment he kept in the inner pocket of his Thalmor robes. “I also understood from the Arch-Mage you still intend to leave…”  
  
She knitted her brow as he handed her the letter and read its contents. It was a report, like they had planned, about the attack from the Fellglow Keep’s summoners in an attempt to overthrow the Arch-Mage in revenge. “I insist you reconsider. The College needs a capable advisor.”

She glanced up at him and saw his gaze was very different. It was questioning and expectant. His tone had not been the usual, condescending sneer either.

She folded the parchment after checking for any hidden messages or enchantments but pulled it back when he made to take it from her. “What are your terms? You have a lot to make up for.”  
  
“Aside from putting up with your sass and ill-temper...” He snatched the parchment from her hand and pocketed it again. Now she was just pushing it! “However, if you were to stay, I will be more mindful and considerate of your efforts.”  
   
“I suppose that’s as much of an apology I will get from you.” She shook her head with a sigh. _You’ll never change…_ “But very well, I shall stay.”  
  
“Very well. I shall inform the Arch-Mage.” She wasn’t sure if she had seen it, but was quite sure to have caught the smallest hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

 

* * *

 

 

Delphine sat in her rocking chair on the Sleeping Giant Inn's porch. It was a perfect spot for her to keep an eye on everything in Riverwood, including her Inn to make sure that Orgnar, the moody cook in her employ, did his chores.  
  
Orgnar wasn't too happy his boss made him do all the work, but while, to the untrained eye, Delphine seemed to be relaxing for a bit, he knew her better. The way her face was set and the storm that seemed brewing in her fierce, blue eyes, something or someone was testing her patience or had crossed her. As long as it wasn't him, he didn't care as it meant she'd be off his back for the time being.

As the sun set, most of the villagers retreated to their homes, though some entered the Inn to enjoy the end of the week's eve.

_I doubt he died in Ustengrav. I cleared most of the traps for him…_ she mused. She sighed, mildly annoyed that she couldn't be sat here longer and returned into the Inn to tend to the guests and make sure everything remained in order.

The sound of Sven's lute and voice rang through the Inn, accompanied by merry laughter as the songs initially were tame heralds to the Empire before turning to inappropriate medleys about fair maidens with large…She cleared her throat, glaring at Sven. "We had this discussion before, Sven."

"Let us have our eve, Delphine. As long as we pay for the drink and food, we aren't that much of a bother." Hod said. He had been playing cards with some of the men and had been singing along, terribly false, like the most.

She sighed, annoyed. "Tell that to your wives when they come knocking on my door." Nevertheless, she didn't want to waste her time on this. She had other matters to attend too. While this…Dragonborn wasn't going to show his face, she had better make preparations and stay alert in the meantime. She retreated to her room in the back of the tavern, to the right, where no one ever came, but sprang to alert when she saw that the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller no longer lay on her nightstand.

Before she could spin around, a sharp set of claws wrapped around her throat from behind and the tip of a razor-sharp dagger pressed against her lower back. She grit her teeth, cursing herself for her lack of caution. "Not a word… _friend,_ " said a rough, male voice she immediately recognized.

"You're the Dragonborn… right?" Delphine tried glancing over her shoulder, but he wouldn't permit her. "Look, I mean you no harm. We need to talk, but I can't if you're about to rip my throat out or stab me down."

"Unlike you, I prefer to maintain caution." The Dunmer then snorted. "You're about as discreet as a rampant Kagouti. You want to talk? Then we talk."

"Not here. Too many ears and eyes." Delphine pointed at the closet against the far wall. "There's a false panel behind it. We can talk there."

He shoved her towards it and she opened the closet for him, which indeed was empty and revealed a stairway that led down to a cellar of sorts with a table, covered In books and maps on the Empire, the dragons and the Dragonborn. What immediately caught his eye, however, were the Akaviri katanas on the wall to his right. She could've stolen them or obtained them somehow, so Ganir didn't lower his guard, but it was an interesting factor in the theory he and Ancano had.

He didn't follow her further down, leaning against the wall of the stairway so he could keep an eye on any unwanted visitors. "I've got the horn back, which you took, so I hope you understand I'm humoring you."

"You sound surprised I took it," Delphine observed with a humorless grin. "I guess I'm getting pretty good at my harmless innkeeper act."

"By my standards, I'm not impressed." Ganir replied. "Still, I wonder what's up with this whole cloak and dagger game of yours. You could have awaited me in Ustengrav, or elsewhere."

"It was too great of a risk," Delphine shook her head. "Thalmor spies are everywhere."

_I'd know it_. He thought, refraining from a snort. "And yet, you've reached out to me in spite of them slithering around. So, what do you want from me?"

"I didn't go through all this trouble on a whim," she snapped defensively. "I needed to make sure it wasn't a Thalmor trap. I'm  _not_ your enemy. I'm actually trying to help you. Just hear me out."

After glancing up the steps and not sensing any danger, aside from distrust towards her, he looked back at her. "I'm listening."

"Like I said in my note, I've heard you might be Dragonborn. I'm part of a group that's been looking for you…well, someone like you, for a very long time. If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you any more, I need to make sure I can trust you."

_You can’t._ He couldn't help but chuckle. "I know what 'group' you're a part of, though I wonder why despite that, you'd be looking for a Dragonborn."

Delphine wondered if he was bluffing or not, but decided to keep the conversation going. He was…interesting to say the least. "We remember what most don't," Delphine said ominously. "The Dragonborn is the ultimate dragon slayer as they can permanently kill a dragon by devouring its soul. I've heard…rumors of such a thing happening near Whiterun. Is it true?"

"I don't see a point in answering this. How do I know you're not a Thalmor spy?" He crossed his arms over his chest. He guessed it unlikely, but there was something about her that he didn't trust. Perhaps it was her despair that made her so callous and careless in her actions. Compared to the Blades he had worked with so long ago, she was a joke.

Her eyes narrowed. "We are very old enemies for obvious reasons, so I assure you I'm no spy for them. Rather, they are after me. And I wouldn't put it past them to have a hand in the return of the dragons. What's most important right now, whoever, is that you might be Dragonborn."

"You're not telling me anything of particular interest," Ganir picked at his sharp teeth. "So unless you're going to start telling me everything, I'll be on my way."

Delphine caught the bait. "Dragon's aren't just coming back…They're coming back to life." Ganir raised a brow.  _Interesting…or completely insane._ "They weren't  _gone_  somewhere for all these years. They were dead, killed off centuries ago by my predecessors. Now, something's happening to bring them back to life. And I need you to help me stop it."

_We'll see if I help you…_ "Do tell, what makes you think they're coming back to life?" he asked.

"I know they are." Delphine pushed the map on the table forward. "Remember that dragonstone you retrieved? It was a map to all the dragon burial mounds across Skyrim. I've visited some of them and found them empty. No grave robbers. I've figured out where the next one will be. If you come with me, and kill it, I'll tell you anything you want to know."

Ganir's eye shot back and forth from the map to Delphine. She obviously held knowledge not common to anyone. She'd known about the dragonstone and about the horn's location in Ustengrav. As brazen and unpleasant as she seemed, she had answers the Greybeards had been reluctant to provide. As stoic, strong and determined as she tried to appear, he could see the hope in her eyes.

He sighed, reluctant to have to put up with her, but it was the only lead he really had outside of the Greybeards. "Where are we headed?"

"Kynesgrove. There's an ancient dragon burial near there. If we can get there before it happens, maybe we'll learn how to stop it."

 

* * *

 

The recent events had caused quite the stir amongst the students, who couldn’t stop talking about the showdown against the dragon. But what Cirilonde noticed most, was how they were beyond impressed with Ancano’s prowess and power. She stood in the back of the Hall of Elements to observe Drevis’ lesson on Illusion spells to calm or scare potential opponents. It had been quite an amusing sight to behold. Onmund would charge for Drevis, only to run away, scared and screaming from unseen monsters.  
  
“I could watch this all day, to be frank.” She couldn’t help but giggle. Ancano, who had just come walking in and joined her side, raised a brow at her.   
  
Though he lingered with her for a moment to watch Onmund run from Drevis again, screaming “Get them off me, they’re trying to get in my nose!”, he told her the Arch-Mage required them and she followed him. Normally, she would either be following as he walked at a  steady, fast pace but now he remained at her side.   
  
“People have been quite impressed with your combat skills you showed when you fought the dragon.” Her compliment was sincere but made sure to make it out of the students’ earshot. They were far too eager for gossip.  
  
“I’ve spent years honing my skills as I was forced to maintain a high standard as an agent of the Thalmor.” He wasn’t entirely dismissive of her compliment but he knew he was an utmost capable man. He held the door open for her and they both entered the Arch-Mage’s Quarters, where Tolfdir awaited them both.  
  
“I’m glad you could come on such a short notice.” Tolfdir said. Even when Savos was Arch-Mage, the desk had always been littered with countless of letters, scrolls and other things, but there was now quite the huge pile. Aside from a lot of correspondence, the recent events had drained the inventory of the College from potions, ingredients and soul gems not only to buy the silence of Winterhold, but also to compensate for the required and urgent repairs.  
  
They wasted no time. Phinis and Sergius had been conjuring and soul-trapping lesser daedra all night while Faralda and Colette had set out in the most early of morning to gather ingredients which were now to be utilized by the two elves and Nord to refill the stocks.

Soon, all that was heard was the scribble of quills on parchment, the bubble of the cauldron and the hum of enchantments.  
  
Ancano ran a hand through his silver-white hair and scratched at the stubble that had graced his jawline since a few days. "According to my calculations, we should be about halfway done."

"We should take a break." Tolfdir rubbed his sore wrists after corking the new batch of potions he’d made. "I certainly could use a meal and some fresh air, if you don't mind. We can continue later this afternoon."

Cirilonde had just swept the enchanting table clean from all magicka residue and soul gem fragments. "I certainly could use a break as well. I'm out of soul gems to begin with, so I'll have to wait for Phinis to come bring the rest. What of you, Ancano?”  
  
“I should be fine,” he waved a dismissive hand.  
  
She then looked at Tolfdir. "Would you mind if I studied here while you are off, Arch-Mage?"

"No, no, by all means, child, go ahead." He then stopped midway to the door to turn to her. “Try to not burn anything down.”

"I won’t,” she promised with a nervous grin. "Enjoy your meal and walk." She then turned to gather her notes from Faralda's classes and after reading them through again, she attempted to put the theory to practice.

She had made progress with her studies, but mostly with Conjuration. When it came to Destruction, however, she had yet to successfully harness the elements into a bolt of flame or lightning. She readied herself by positioning herself into the taught stance, cleared her mind and focused on her breathing while channeling the magicka. The flame crackled in the palms of her hands as it grew in size, and like Faralda had instructed her, she was to restrain her magicka at a certain point and launch it, however, the results for her had remained the same thus far. The ball of fire would remain stable in its growth until it would suddenly burst beyond her control and she was forced to dispel it.

She had been so engrossed with her futile attempts (which frustrated her to no end) she had completely forgotten about Ancano. She hadn’t noticed he had laid down his work to pour himself some wine and observe her. Aside from finding it entertaining to watch her fumble at first, he also found himself intrigued with her.   
  
As ill-tempered and difficult as she could be, she had shown compassion; a very unusual trait for a female with her heritage. Not only that, she had applied and attempted everything within her knowledge to mend his wounds. Not to mention that she had bloomed into a leader, who was struggling to master a simple bolt of flame.  
  
This just wouldn’t do. Aside from giving him a headache to watch her stunt with such a simple thing after a while, he had promised her to make amends and be more helpful and considerate of her.

"Enough. Just…stop." Ancano but flicked his hand and dismissed her spell with a swift incantation and rose with a sigh.   
  
_Did he just dispel…_ She had been so engrossed with her futile attempts she had forgotten about him. Had he been watching her?  
  
"It's just painful to watch an Altmer, of all things, to attempt casting in such a fashion. You're going to blow yourself up at this rate, if not the College."

"Well, I’d hate to impede on your department of expertise..." Her green eyes held a sparkle of mischief.  
  
_Did you just…?_  
  
“So, will you teach me, please, Master Wizard?"

"If you can curb your sass, I intend too.” He removed his gloves, tossing them on the desk before walking over to her. “The issue seems to stem from this crude, primal casting method Faralda insists to force upon you."

"Do elaborate, please." _I didn’t expect him to actually help…_

"Restraint is important in the fundamental teachings of the arts in a variety of scenarios, however, you're advanced enough to know your limits, therefor, you ought to be capable of maintaining a steady control and flow of the flames,” he said to her and grabbed hold of her shoulders, turning her to face away from him. She cast a nervous gaze at him over her shoulders, which he pushed down. “And your stance is forced. Far too tense.” He then reached past her to grab hold of her hands and he noticed she tensed. “I’m not going to kill you,” he rolled his eyes. “Now, pay attention.” He positioned her in a stance similar to his. Though she had taken a breath to relax, she felt her cheeks grow warm as she was very aware of his body pressing against his. Aside from the wine, she caught the most alluring scent of sandalwood and embers emanate from him. Was it perfume? “If you apply the same theory with this technique, it should be better. Try it.”  
  
She did as instructed, but rather than keep the flame in a short distance between her hands, he guided her hands to move more fluently like she would when performing healing spells. It felt far more natural to her because her whole body was in control of the flames as he helped her control the crackling heat around them. "Don't be afraid to get burned. You're fine as long as you maintain a steady rhythm. There's no need for restraint as long as you know your limits."

She swallowed, finding it difficult to concentrate as his words brushed past her sensitive ear and felt his tall, lean body press against hers. His long, slender fingers were wrapped around her wrists and his scent did not cease to tease her senses. Her heart began to pound rapidly and he had barely stepped away from her to let her try on her own when the flames burst out of control and he was forced to step in and dispel them.

He simply took the flames from her flow of magicka and with swirl, he guided them around himself until they dissipated. "I anticipated at much,” he said dryly. “We'll try again."

"I’ve already seen it, but your theoretic knowledge of the arts is very impressive indeed.” She looked up at him over her shoulder as he guided her once more. The flames built up again and they repeated the process.

"Focus." He snapped. The moment he had stepped away, he noticed the ripple in the flames as her attention was diverted. Her eyes hardened in concentration on the flames and steered them around herself, slowly making them grow as they moved in circles and eight-figures at a steady pace. "But yes, I've spent years perfecting my abilities. Hence why I'm not too impressed with most of your peers."

"Well, keep in mind that most of them aren’t exactly like us." Her eyes never left the flames as she spoke and didn't notice Ancano watched her far more intently. He wasn't surprised that a minor change in stance had done the trick, but he was impressed nevertheless. The flames cast quite the interesting light and shadow patterns, making her smooth, golden skin glow, emphasizing the smooth curve of her jawline and cheekbones. The way her chest rose and fell as she bit her lip in concentration to maintain a steady pace. The sensation of his body pressed against hers also lingered and the moment he realized his mind began to wander, he reprimanded himself. _No. Don’t. You fool._  
  
She continued talking, "I've studied with Masters in the arts in Alinor and at the Arcane University in Cyrodiil for twenty-five or thirty years now or so? Aside from my lacking in the Destruction and Conjuration arts, it's only logical they aren't on par by your standards as they don't share our lifespan."

"And we're superior, whether you share my beliefs or not." Ancano took control of her flow of magicka and pulled the flames too him before sending them back to her. She took the hint and sent the flames back to him. She noticed right away that once the flames left Ancano, they had grown in size and speed. Sweat beaded her forehead as the flames were channeled between the two elves and the heat grew in speed and intensity. It took her more and more effort to keep them away from her and steer them back to Ancano as her strength to do so ran low. When he sent the flames back to her again, she raised a ward, sending the flames brushing overhead by just. The impact almost knocked her off her feet.

Tolfdir had just opened the door and was startled by the gout of flames that forced him to duck back. The flames charred the faceted window with the Arcane Eye black. She took a sharp breath. _That could’ve ended badly…_  
  
“I’m terribly sorry about that, Tolfdir. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, child.” He looked up at the charred windows as well. “Though I recommend you take your practices outside in the future.”

 

* * *

 

Kynesgrove was a small mining village with only an Inn aside from some small houses located on the south road from Windhelm, so it seemed like quite an unnecessary 'detour' of sorts, given that he'd gone all the way from Ustengrav, to Riverwood and now to here. Ganir had had half the heart to just bail and return the horn of Jurgen Windcaller to High Hrothgar, but when they closed in on the village, he couldn't believe his eyes, for he had never expected to see the dragon from Helgen again. Yet, there it was, flying overhead, sending the villagers either running away or into their homes. Rather than attack, however, it had flown up to the hill where the dragon burial mound was.  
  
"What are you even waiting for? Get out of here!" One of the peasants yelled at them in passing.

Ganir and Delphine nodded at each other and tied their horses to a nearby tree. They snuck their way up the hill and took cover behind a formation of rocks and bushes where they had a good view on the dragon and the burial mound, where the dragon lingered above in still flight.  
The dragon's fiery red eyed flickered, fixated on the stone, carved ring in the ground, which was filled with sand. He didn't just know the bones of his servant lay there, but he could feel them. "Sahloknir, ziil gro dovah ulse!" He took a sharp breath and exhaled, "Slen tiid vo!"

When the last three words were spoken, the earth rumbled and both Delphine and Ganir's eyes widened as they witnessed the unthinkable. Granted, necromancers and conjurers had reanimated the dead; a frowned upon practice, but to actually revive something from death…This feat was unthinkable and never accomplished.

The bones of the dragon that emerged from the mound were initially bound by but the other dragon's voice, before muscle, flesh and scales were restored. The dragon was smaller than the black one; its scales grey and brown and eyes golden. It was unthinkable, given the nature of the beast, but it was submissive to the dragon flying over him. "Alduin, thuri," It said in a motion close to a bow as it lowered its head in respect before looking back up. "Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?"

"Geh, Sahloknir, kaali mir." Said the black dragon before its head turned in the direction of Ganir and Delphine, who were both startled. Had he known they were there all along? "Ful, losei, Dovahkiin? Zu'u koraav nid nol dov do hi." The beast's eyes narrowed as a strange sound, like the grinding of rocks, a chuckle, emitted from its throat with disdain. "You do not even know our tongue, do you?" he sneered. "Such  _arrogance_  to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah!" He then snapped his head in the other dragon's direction. "Sahloknir, krii daar joorre!"

Though he indeed did not understand the dragon language, Ganir gathered right away that 'Sahloknir' was the name of the dragon who immediately sprang to his master's demands, who flew away. "Yes, my Lord Alduin. I will be happy to oblige…"

_I heard that name before…Alduin…_ "Here we go again." Ganir sighed and unsheathed his daggers. _Here’s to not getting impaled on anything…again._  
  
“Wait! What are you doing?! Are you mad?!” Delphine exclaimed, immediately pulling her bow and arrows out to fire at the dragon the Dark Elf had rushed towards.  
What she didn’t know, however, that Ganir had killed two dragons, so he know what to do. This time, however, Ganir knew it would either be easier or more difficult, because Sahloknir was clearly stronger and bigger than Mirmulnir and the dragon he’d faced in Winterhold. He repeated the same tactic he had applied to them, however and outmaneuvered the beast, tearing away at the scales and its throat. It wasn’t long before Sahloknir too fell to the Dragonborn’s blades.  
  
Delphine stood stunned in disbelief as the dragon fell dead to the ground after Ganir buried his daggers in the beast’s skull. The scales and flesh began to smoke before being lit ablaze and she witnessed how the very essence of the dragon became one with Ganir, who stood unmoved with crossed arms over his chest. “Now, would you mind answering me some questions?”  


 

* * *

 

**Sahlkoknir, zill gro voah ulse –**  Spirit bound dragon of eternity.  
**Slen Tiid Vo –**  Flesh against Time  
**Alduin, thuri! Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik –**  Alduin, my overlord! An age past, did you not destroy the power of the ancient kings?  
**Geh Sahloknir, kaali mir –**  Yes, Sahloknir, my trusted ally  
**Ful losei Dovahkiin? Zu'u koraav nid nol dov do hi**  – So, my false Dragonborn, I do not recognize you as dragon!  
**Sahloknir, krii daar joorre**  – Sahloknir, kill these mortals

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank the people who gave me kudos. I'm really glad to see you are enjoying it. Please let me know what you thought and I hope you keep enjoy reading this!


	14. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She had always been faster and far more vicious than he’d been, and her fingers wrapped around his throat after a swift spell to silence his connection to the arcane. Her lips nearly brushed against his ear. “Tell me, what was so powerful it left a ripple in its wake that was felt in Dawnstar and Windhelm before it just disappeared.”

**Chapter 13**

“Good morning, Arch-Mage,” Cirilonde’s voice chimed. Tolfdir looked up from the fresh, new pile of letters which he was responding to one by one. “You look like you could use some help.”  
  
“Oh no, child. I should be done with this by the end of the day.” He waved his hand at it in dismissal. “I was about to head down and host my class.” He swiped the bread and cheese crumbs from his robes and plucked them out his beard.  
  
“Ah, I just got back from another morning session with Master Sergius to help restock the soul gems, so I’m free if you have use of me,” she said as she scanned a few letters with dull, typical inquiries and other letters the sort.  
  
“That’s most kind of you, dear. Perhaps, if you will, can you send these along their way with the pigeons before they cover the tower floor with their excrement again?” He held the small pile of letters up; some folded, some rolled up and sealed.  
  
“I will, I should be back shortly…” She made to take it from him, but he held them, looking her in the eyes.  
  
“Since we are alone, I would like to ask you…” The old Nord’s voice had hushed down. “Do you trust him?”  
  
“That’s a simple question with a complex answer.” _Not exactly a fair question, either._  
   
He still held on to the little pile, however. “Don’t get too close, Ciri dear,” he warned. “We don’t _really_ know him and what’s going on in that mind of his.” He then cleared his throat and got up as the Dwemer clockwork on his desk chimed eleven times. “Well, time for me to go. I should be back at about two in the afternoon.”  
  
Cirilonde stood at the desk as she pondered the intent behind Tolfdir’s words. Granted, Ancano was still a Thalmor, something she’d tried to ignore. But did she trust him? Perhaps, he indeed was biding his time, but how would it benefit him to betray them after all they’d done for him? Not to mention he had cooperated with the ruse, but again, could be to keep his own nose clean.  
  
She tried to discard the thought, thinking the Nord far too paranoid, but as she walked up the steps to the tower, her mind sank into deep contemplation. The pigeons fluttered about, startled, the owls screeched in protest and the eagles just glared at her.  
  
“Well, good morning to you too,” she grumbled, as she tied the letters to the birds’ legs. Initially, this wasn’t a problem, but the cold, harsh wind had soon numbed her fingers. She hissed and jerked her hand back from a grumpy, old owl that had moodily nipped at her fingers. “Blasted birds.” She hissed, sucking on the finger that bled before healing it. After calming the owl’s ill temper, she sent the last letter off and peered down the tower at the College grounds. She immediately recognized the familiar silhouette of Ancano who made his way across the courtyard, but the flutter in her stomach alarmed her and she understood why Tolfdir had warned her.  
  
She ran a hand through her hair. _I know he’s a Thalmor and they’ve done horrible, terrible things, but the old man doesn’t understand they’re not all bad. Anciel was one of them …_  
  
She glanced up at the sun that dared peek  through the clouds and she let her mind wander.

 

* * *

 

As she passed the nobles, princes and magi, Cirilonde kept on the lookout for her father and brother. She found them but they were talking with Lord Exarch Tauryoncil Highal the Wise and his son, Taurmillan. She didn’t want to risk embarrassing her family by approaching uninvited and remained in the background, sipping at the wine she was poured by a servant.  
  
Nothing escaped Taurmillan’s eyes, however, and his eyes locked on the High Elven maiden, whose hair shone in the lights, woven together with a headdress made of pearls. She wore a black and golden, ornate dress-robe with a golden sash, which gracefully hugged her figure without revealing too much. His conversation partners followed his gaze.  
  
“She seems to be waiting for you, General Valanocke…” Taurmillan looked at the fellow stood next to him, clad in polished, elven armor. His golden-blond hair, beard and moustache were neatly kempt and trimmed, as to be expected from a General.  
  
“I apologize, Lord Commander, that is my sister. She hasn’t seen me in months and no doubt came looking for me to catch up.” Anciel wasn’t as confident as he sounded, hoping her appearance wasn’t mistaken as rude.  
  
Tauryoncil gave a humorless chuckle as he looked at the general’s father. “You carry a fine lineage, Lord Falintaor. You never mentioned you had a daughter.” He had noticed the flicker in his son’s eyes and was all too familiar with it.

“You would honor me if you were to permit me to introduce her to the both of you Lords,” said Falintaor.

* * *

  
   
While Cirilonde’s mind wandered, she had begun to channel the flames again like Ancano had shown her. This went well, until she turned and the gout of flame nearly hit Ancano, but with the flick of his wrist, he took control of the blazing heat and steered it away from him, back to her.  
  
“I see you’ve made progress,” he observed while the flames went back and forth between them again.  
  
She nodded, but the success wasn’t for long, because the moment they met eyes, Tolfdir’s warning echoed in her mind and she dispelled the flames before risking injury either to him or herself. She sighed and rubbed her forehead.  
  
“You don’t trust me.” Again she saw that typical, calculating flicker in his eyes. “Don’t deny it. I’ve watched you a bit before I came up here and it was fine until I came up.”  
   
“It’s…complex, due the nature of a conversation I had with someone earlier.” She knew he could handle it. He had a thick skin but still she was hesitant to say what she did. “I _want_ to trust you, I even think I do…but there’s the conflict of your interests between the College and the Thalmor.”  
  
“If it’s any reassurance, the secret of the Eye’s existence is safe with me. The Thalmor would no doubt abuse it, but the same would happen if it was in the hands of the Empire or Stormcloaks. I even doubt the Psijics just ‘study’ it.” Ancano had folded his hands behind his back to hide the clenching and relaxing motion of his fingers.  
  
“Which is why I trust you.” Her gaze didn’t waver from his until she noticed his hands. “You seem conflicted as well. Ganir, no doubt, because he’s Dragonborn; the very embodiment what the Dominion seeks to extinguish.”  
  
Again the subtle flicker in his eyes. “Quite the observation, but correct,” he said as he joined her side to look down at the College grounds. “However, that’s a matter of semantics. He’s not a worshipper of, nor does he claim to be an incarnation of Talos. So I see no reason to make a fuss. And as long as there’s no inquiries, we should be fine, in which case I’d still feign ignorance.”  
  
“That’s not all.” In short time she had spent with him, she had learned the subtle and calculated language of his body, which was no doubt trained to betray as little emotion or intent possible, even by Altmer standards.  
  
He chuckled; a most pleasant sound in her ears despite its bitter undertone. She knew him far too well…which was a problem. He couldn’t afford to fall for her because of the situation at hand, nor could he let her get too close. She’d been hurt enough. He stared ahead of him for a moment, pondering how to phrase his words. “This morning an eagle arrived from the Thalmor Embassy in Solitude,” he started. “I’ve been summoned to report in person which isn’t a problem. Dull inquiries and confirmations. But it also appears they intend to reassign me elsewhere.”  
  
He too, had paid attention to her from the moment she arrived and more intently so as of late. Far too intently. There was that look in her eyes again. It wasn’t anger or anything close to that. Instead, she fell silent for a moment as the words sank in and she stared away into the distance. “So you will be leaving us…”  
  
“It perhaps would be for the best as all this will be more likely to be forgotten about.” He wanted too, but couldn’t ignore this odd, empty feeling in his stomach as he said this. He looked at her as the veil of white-golden locks swayed in the wind and the fashion in which she bit her lip.  
  
_So you can forget about all of us…_ She hadn’t thought she’d be able to care about him as much as she did because he was a snarky, arrogant bat most of the time, but she learned he was but protective of himself and held very high standards both to himself and others. But he had changed and she couldn’t deny the feelings she had developed for him, but knew it wouldn’t change anything, nor did she feel it was appropriate to voice them, so she remained silent.  
   
“I should get going…” He turned away and made to leave, but her trembling hand grabbed hold of his.  
  
She struggled to keep a straight, strong face to hide her emotions, but the fact she wouldn’t look him in the eyes for long betrayed her. “Know that the College will always be a safe haven for you, Ancano.”  
  
He gave a curt nod and let go of her hand. “Thanks to you.” He turned and looked at her over his shoulder a final time. “Farewell.”  


 

* * *

 

Delphine leaned against the table that stood in the cellar of the Sleeping Giant Inn from where she ran her operations. Again and again, she could see it all happen again before her eyes, how the flesh was stripped from the dragon’s bones and its entire being was absorbed to become part of the moody, vampire that stood in front of her.  
  
“I owe you some answers, don’t I?” she finally said. “Go ahead. Whatever you want to know. Nothing held back.”  
  
“Well, I know you’re a Blade,” Ganir said. Granted, whenever he thought back of any of the fights against the dragons, he got a brief rush of adrenaline and would it have been able, his heart would have begun to race, but after defeating three dragons and absorbing their very essence to become part of his, it seemed almost…normal? He still wasn’t really sure how to feel about it, save that he was in deep, deep trouble. There simply wasn’t another word for it but he decided he’d make the best out of it while it lasted. “What I wonder is what you want with me and are there more of you?”  
   
She shook her head. “I’m one of the last members of the Blades and have no idea of my comrades’ whereabouts. A very long time ago, the Blades were dragon slayers, and we served the Dragonborn; the ultimate dragon slayer. For the last two hundred years, since the last Dragonborn emperor, the Blades have been searching for a purpose. With the return of the dragons, this is now clear. We need to stop them.”  
  
“You seem to know a lot about the dragons.” He looked at the parchment copy of the dragon stone. “So I suppose you could tell me what you know of their return.”  
  
“In all honesty, not a damn thing.” Delphine gripped at her own hair with a sigh of frustration. “I was just as surprised as you to find that big, black dragon here.”  
  
“I’ve seen him before,” Ganir said. “The black dragon, I mean.”  
   
Delphine’s expression was one of disbelief. “Really? Where?”  
  
“Helgen. It’s a long story,” he replied. “By an unfortunate series of events, I caught got in a skirmish with a friend where the Imperials captured Ulfric and we were brought to Helgen for execution. The execution, logically, never transpired, because that dragon attacked.”  
  
Delphine furrowed her brow in contemplation. “Interesting. Same dragon… Damn it!” She slammed her fist down on the table, startling Ganir as he’d been looking at the Akaviri blade on the wall. “We’re blundering around in the dark here! We _need_ to figure out who’s behind it all!”  
  
“So you haven’t a clue as to what our next move is?” He raised a brow. Surely he hadn’t gone through all this effort just to prove some stranger he was Dragonborn; an unnecessary, terrible risk. It didn’t help he was a vampire to begin with. At the College, it didn’t bother anyone because they knew and trusted him and mages generally were more…lenient when it came to such matters, but outside of that…  
  
“The first thing we need to do, is figure out who’s behind the dragons.” She said with renewed determination as she paced back and forth. “The Thalmor are our best lead. If they aren’t involved, they’ll at least know who is.”  
  
“You’re joking, right?” He snorted. “By what deduction do you think the Thalmor have _any_  involvement in bringing the dragons back?”  
  
“Nothing solid,” she admitted with reluctance, but then glared at Ganir. “Yet. But my guts tell me it can’t be anybody else.”  
  
_Grasping at straws again._ He refrained from growling in annoyance. __  
  
“Think about it then. You said so yourself!” she exclaimed. “The Empire had captured Ulfric. The civil war was basically _over_. Then a dragon attacks, Ulfric escapes and the war is back on. And now the dragons are attacking everywhere, indiscriminately. Skyrim is weakened. The Empire is weakened…Who else gains from that but the Thalmor?”  
  
“And I suppose you think if we ask them nicely, they’ll be happy to just tell us?” He spat sarcastically. “Have you even thought about how you want to go about this?”  
  
“I do, actually.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Make no mistake, I have operated alone, but I _do_ have my connections, including at the Thalmor Embassy of Solitude. His name’s Malborn, a Wood Elf…”  
   
“No. Oh no!” He protested right away. “Before we do anything as stupid and suicidal as that, I suggest we speak to a fellow by the name of Ancano; coincidentally a Thalmor who owes me quite the favor. If he doesn’t know, then you’re free to break into the Embassy.”  
  
“I’m not going, but you will be going.” Delphine’s eyes didn’t waver from his. “I would be recognized right away. I don’t care _what_ you think, but I know you agree with me that it’s at least _possible_ that the Thalmor are involved in some way.”  
  
Her theory and plans weren’t just insane and suicidal, they sounded downright ludicrous! Yet, having seen Ancano’s prowess in the arts of magic, Ganir wouldn’t put it past any, even more powerful Thalmor mage to be capable of reanimating a dead dragon. However, this black dragon, Alduin, hadn’t exactly looked dead, but what if they had obtained some, powerful artefact? No, that was unlikely, but at the same time, he couldn’t ignore the facts the dragons couldn’t have just popped up out of nowhere. It would be a start, in any case.  


* * *

  
  
In the meantime, Ancano had made his way to Solitude on horseback. He winded up the path to the Thalmor Embassy, but he pulled at the reins to halt the horse. He’d tried to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of his head; this doubt that gnawed at him and how his mind would constantly wander back to the College. He’d had half the heart to turn, but knew he couldn’t get out from under this and deep down, he knew it was for the best to just forget about all of this.  
  
He’d never been stationed anywhere as long as he had been here, nor was he one to form friendships easily; few people interested him. Despite the odd disposition between him and the members of the College and what had transpired, they had forgiven him and given him a new chance. Some even had shown respect after the dragon’s appearance. He was all too aware that Cirilonde hadn’t only cared for him, but also seemed to care about him; at least, enough to treat him the way she had. He held no securities, but made no delusional, arrogant assumptions either she felt what he felt for her.  
  
He grit his teeth, shaking his head as if shaking the thoughts out of his mind. _Focus. You need to forget about this._ He carried on his way to the Embassy, where the guard had been doubled. _Another one of your parties, Elenwen?_ He thought sarcastically, thankful he’d never been hassled into attending. No doubt it would be later this week. By then he’d be long gone off to Auri-El knew where.  
  
He dismounted near the entrance and made his way in to the lobby where he was greeted by a scrawny Wood Elf, with large, brown eyes and a wild mess of brown hair. “Welcome. Was Milady the First Emissary Elenwen expecting you?”  
  
“Would I be here otherwise?” he waved a dismissive hand at the Wood Elf. “I know the way.”  
   
He walked across the hall and up the stairs. The servants made broad way for him even though he overheard how busy they were with the preparations for the part Elenwen would host in a few days. He left the stairwell of the second floor and opened the door to a hall, where he received a ‘most warm’ welcome as he opened the door and nearly bumped into a stately High Elf, who wore Thalmor robes like he, except his robes were adorned with the insignias befitting the rank of Third Emissary. He was taller than Ancano and had a beard that emphasized the haughty expression on his face.  
   
“Forgive me, Third Emissary Rulindil.” Ancano bowed his head.  
  
“Mind your step, _operative._ ” Rulindil hissed with disdain before he entered his own office, which was next to Elenwen’s of which the entry was sided by the statues of eagles. As he waited, he noticed that despite all activity on the lower levels, it was strangely quiet here, but no doubt Elenwen wouldn’t tolerate being hassled by scurrying handmaidens and servants. It didn’t silence the nagging feeling at the back of his mind, though, which he tried to ignore. He had to practice the answers to the potential questions he would most likely be asked.  
  
It wasn’t long before a pair of guards came to retrieve him, but rather than Elenwen’s office, they took him up another stairway, separate from the stairwell he’d come from, to the Solar; Elenwen’s private, personal quarters in the Embassy.  
  
Elenwen stood by the window and turned when Ancano entered, sided by guards. “Leave us,” she said to them, who immediately obeyed. “I must say, my dearest Ancano, you have been quite busy.”  
  
Elenwen was a prodigy; a perfect example of the ideal High Elven female in the eyes of the Thalmor. She was tall, attractive, postured and most elegant. But Ancano knew much better. Elenwen was like a sleek feline, her slanted eyes immediately locking on him. Her painted lips curled into a predatory, but insincere smile as she walked over to him.  
  
“As is to be expected from a Thalmor operative.” He pulled back from her talon-like fingers, but she grabbed his hair and pulled herself towards him, pushing him against the wardrobe and kissed him. She bit his lip while her free hand grabbed hold of his as he made to protest. In spite of himself, he groaned but managed to pull away. “What’s this now? Surely you don’t begrudge me still. It’s been _years_.”  
  
“Years or no, I remember as though it were yesterday.” He took a sharp breath as she pushed her leg between his and ground her hips against his groin.  
  
She mockingly clacked her tongue. “That begrudging glare becomes you so well…” her tongue trailed along his neck and he shuddered in pleasure when she began to suck at the sweet spot just below his ear. It took all his restraint to not groan. Her lips curled into a feline smirk. She knew his weaknesses. Or so she thought, because he grabbed her hair and pulled her head back.  
  
“I believe I made myself rather clear after that night,” he whispered menacingly.  
  
“It had to be done. They were nothing but lowlife dissidents-,”  
  
“There were innocent _families!_ ” Disgusted, he let go of her.  
  
She shook her head and chuckled; a cold insincere sound. “It is exactly why I am the First Emissary and you but an Operative. You. Are. Weak.”  
  
“Frowning upon genocide has nothing to do with weakness but standards.” He bit back.  
  
“Standards?” Her eyes held a malicious glimmer. “Such as withholding information?” He froze and swallowed. “The report you sent me, dearest, was flawless, but you oversaw a minor flaw, named Estormo…”  
  
His jaw clenched. He thought Ganir had killed Estormo in Labyrinthian. Apparently not. How could he have been so stupid himself for just assuming so?!  
  
She had always been faster and far more vicious than he’d been, and her fingers wrapped around his throat after a swift spell to silence his connection to the arcane. Her lips nearly brushed against his ear. “Tell me, what was _so_ powerful it left a ripple in its wake that was felt in Dawnstar and Windhelm before it just disappeared.”  
  
“How…What are you talking about?!” He denied.  
  
A slow applause made Ancano look past Elenwen. She pulled away from Ancano as the man who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, had his guards restrain Ancano. When he saw the ring around the man’s finger, Ancano knew he was in big trouble. He bore the signet of a Lord Exarch…  
   
“Ever as efficient, First Emissary.” The compliment wasn’t very sincere. “I will be taking it from here…I already know enough.” His cold, gray eyes narrowed at Ancano, who tried to pull himself free. A punch in the gut was enough to remind him it was over. “Such a pity to hear that a most prominent agent such as yourself has sullied the Thalmor name.” The man’s voice was rich, clear but cold. “Not to worry, however. Rest assured whatever little rebellion you hoped to start from Winterhold, I will quench by razing it to the ground after I’ve retrieved my betrothed and found whatever you’ve hidden away from us.”  
  
“You won’t find it and they won’t tell.” Ancano spat defiantly. Aside from the disdainful and haughty fashion this man carried himself, even by Altmer standards, Ancano knew, like Elenwen, this man wouldn’t care over how many corpses he had to step to obtain or achieve what he wanted.  
   
“We’ll see…” said the Lord Exarch, unimpressed. “Not that it will be of consequence to you as you won’t be alive to hear or see of it. Take him away.”

 

* * *

  
  
Ganir rubbed his temples. Had this just been for Delphine, he would have refused. So be it if the Thalmor were behind it. He’d slay every, single dragon that crossed his path. But after visiting the College, he met with Cirilonde, who told him Ancano had left for the Embassy to be reassigned. She voiced her fears and distrust for the worst. After showing him the letter she had J’Zhargo steal from Ancano’s chambers, he too didn’t like it. His assignment’s dossier wasn’t closed and he’d be reassigned. He was the loose end and no doubt they would take care of him.  
  
He wasn’t going to pretend that he liked Ancano, but in a strange way, the snarky bat had grown on him, and clearly, Cirilonde had grown to care about him. _Of all the men in this world…_  
  
“- The Thalmor Ambassador, Elenwen, regularly throws parties where the rich and connected cozy up to the Thalmor.” Delphine couldn’t suppress her disgust as it was beyond her how anyone would betray the Empire in such a fashion. “I can get you into one of those parties. Once you’re inside the Embassy, you get away and find Elenwen’s secret files.”  
  
_And Ancano._  
  
“Like I told you, I have a contact; a Wood Elf, named Malborn. He works at the Embassy and while he’s not up for this kind of high-risk mission, he can help you.”  
   
Ganir narrowed his eyes. “How are you even so sure we can trust this s’wit?”  
  
“He has _plenty_ of reason to hate the Thalmor. He lost his whole family due to those ‘cleansings’ you never hear about.” A cold shudder ran down Delphine’s spine. These Thalmor were monsters without a conscience. It boggled her mind that Ganir and the College’s Advisor were intent on saving this…Ancano as well, if he was even alive still. “I’ll get word for Malborn to meet you in Solitude at the Winking Skeever. While you take care of that, I’ll make arrangements for you to get an invitation to Elenwen’s little ‘party’. We’ll meet up at the Solitude stables once you’ve arranged things with Malborn.”

He nodded. _You better hang on, Ancano. I’ll rip every single one of their throats out._


	15. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You had better hang in there." He told the unconscious Ancano. "I went through a lot of effort to get your pompous ass out of this mess."

**Chapter 14**

Malborn's fingers nervously drummed against the mug of ale he held while he stayed on the lookout for this…contact of Delphine. He saw a handful of familiar faces in the Winking Skeever of Solitude, but this was the capital of Skyrim and despite the civil war, it had been as busy as ever, and the city was teeming with merchants, diplomats, politicians and Imperial Legionnaires.

"Malborn, is it not?" He jumped in his seat and his head shot to look over his shoulder to see the Dark Elf behind him, who stood leaning against the wall. The Wood Elf had specifically sat down where he had so he could see everyone come in and out, yet, he hadn't seen the Dark Elf enter or approach. Save for the dim glow of his red eyes and the shimmer of his golden earrings, the Dark Elf was nearly invisible as the shadows seemed to embrace him.

"You're the one she sent?" He swallowed, nervous and regarded him. This guy was trouble. No doubt about it. "I hope she knows what she's doing…"

The Wood Elf cast a nervous glance back at the Inn and its guests. No one had seen him or the Dark Elf talk. Nor had anyone followed him here, and nobody paid the two elves any heed, if they could even see the other.

"Let's make this quick." The Dark Elf's eyes narrowed. "Can you get me in or not?"

"Not while you're armed to the teeth like that." Malborn snorted. "They'd pick you out at the entrance. It's heavily guarded, and I make no exaggerations."

"I'm aware, I've taken a gander at the place." With his foot, Ganir shoved a leather bag under Malborn's seat. "Make sure you don't get it anywhere near the fire. The rest should be taken care of."

"It should be, if you don't muck it up." Malborn was hesitant to even pick the bag up, but he lifted it over his shoulder.  _What in the names of…_ What was in this thing?! It smelled weird…  
"I don't know what you and her are planning, but I hope you know they doubled the guard because of the last incident."

When no response came, Malborn looked behind him. The Dark Elf was gone and nowhere to be seen.

_What did I get myself into?!_   
  
  


* * *

Evening had fallen, along with another bloody load of snow. Elenwen scowled. As fine as the food had been and as exquisite as the wine was, she was _itching_ to be done and over with these trivialities. While she hadn't let on, the arrival of Lord Exarch Taurmillan Highal had been sudden and unexpected. It unnerved her. She knew better than to try a superior's patience by prying, (and it was saying something she felt intimidated by him) but she knew that something big was going on.

_First dragons, then this Lord Exarch appears for the College…_ She took a thoughtful sip of her wine. Ancano would no doubt eventually break, whether it was by Rulindil's hands or her own, and she very much preferred it to be at her own hands before getting rid of him.

She had barely listened to Maven Black-Briar from Riften, but nodded and smiled. "But of course, Maven, we understand the pressing needs for such matters to be handled accordingly," she agreed. Auri-El knew to what, however, but it completely lost her interest as she looked past the black-haired woman and spotted quite the interesting sight.

A Dark Elf, clad in exquisite dress-robes befitting a Redoran Council Lord. He was handsome, for a Dark Elf, with a trimmed beard, moustache and long, pitch-black hair bound in the traditional Dunmer style. His face was gaunt, with prominent cheekbones and sunken cheeks. His red eyes seemed to bore holes in her when their eyes met and it gave her an unexpected chill.

_Interesting…I've seen you before…_

The Dunmer gave Razelan a curt nod before walking away.

_Auri-El, Razelan..._ She grit her teeth. He'd better not have offended a guest…again.

She joined the mysterious Dark Elf and when she came close, her nose caught the alluring scent of the Telvanni Bug Musk he wore.

"A most pleasant evening to you, good Sir, I believe we have not yet been introduced properly. I am First Emissary and Ambassador Elenwen." He regarded her disdainfully with his piercing eyes, but shook her hand nevertheless.

"Serjo Mathendis." He stared holes into her very being, and finally let go of her hand.

"I see…" She stared him down just as hard. Who was he? "I am quite sure it must have been quite the journey for you to grace me with your presence. What brings you all the way here, actually? I-,"

" _What_? What do you mean you refuse to serve me Arenthian Red?! Do you even know who I am you scrawny little sandworm?!" Razelan bellowed.

_Fucking…Razelan._ Elenwen grit her teeth.

"Forgive me, please, Sir!" Malborn had frozen, horrified he had not just upset a guest, but that it most likely would have repercussions for him once the party was over. Elenwen wasn't one to take kindly to a scene.

All heads turned and Elenwen's jaw clenched, but managed to maintain her composure as she paced over to Malborn. " _What_  do you think you're doing?" She hissed, barely audible but to Malborn and Razelan. "Serve him the Arenthian Red. Right. Now."  _You incompetent mongrel. How dare you humiliate me in front of my guests?!_

"Yes, of course Milady Elenwen. A thousand apologies. A thousand apologies to you and Sir Razelan." Malborn's hands shook as he poured the Arenthian Red for him and Elenwen.

"Razelan, I apologize for the misunderstanding. Please, can we just forget about this and enjoy our wine for the eve?" She said to the Redguard, who had calmed down quite fast. She put a hand on his shoulder and guided him to the guests again to mingle. She looked for the mysterious 'Serjo Mathendis', but no doubt he'd gone outside to the balcony. She'd have to look for him later once she got this matter settled and smoothed over.  
  


* * *

  
"Are you trying to get me killed?!" Malborn was still pale and stood shaking, clenching his chest with one hand as he felt his heart was about to burst from his chest. He was terrified.

"You told me to cause a distraction, so I did." Ganir said dryly as he angrily stuffed the dress-robes in a barrel. I can't believe I was made to wear this ridiculous get-up! He fastened the laces of his boots and sheathed his daggers before peering into his bag to make sure his supplies were in order, and the surprise he'd prepared.  _The best for last._  He thought with a smirk.

"I need to get back before Elenwen notices I'm gone!" Malborn was clearly growing more skittish by the second and he felt like he was going to throw up. "Come on. Go!"

"Be prepared to run if it goes haywire." Ganir said and he went through the door that Malborn held open for him, locking it shut behind him the moment Ganir had passed.

Now that he was alone, of sorts, Ganir felt that rush again. It had been years, but it was second nature to him and as he snuck further into the Embassy, he left a trail of silent death in his wake as he satisfied his burning hunger for blood and vengeance.

He had just pulled a guard into the pantry after snapping his neck, when he was forced to catch the corpse mid-drop as he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He held his breath and his ears perked.

_Two._ He counted.  _One in robes._  As he heard the familiar rustle of leather like Ancano's robes. _The other…A servant? Hrmm…_

He grit his teeth as he not only had to hold the dead elf, but also had to make sure the armor didn't rattle of clank. He couldn't exactly afford to have them raise the alarm.

"But I need that money! I earned it. I have my own expenses you know?" Came the man's subservient plea. It made Ganir's skin crawl in disgust. The Thalmor had many eyes and ears across the lands, including humans, like this greasy-haired Nord. Traitor of your own kind…I should gut you.

"Silence!" hissed another voice. "Do not  _presume_ , Gissur. You are of use to me but do not forget that you are expendable."

"But Rulindil, no one else brought you such valuable information as I have. I made Etienne talk about the old man, did I not?" Gissur pressed on.

"Don't. Push. It." Rulindil growled. By the rustling sound of clothes and Gissur's gulp, the Thalmor had no doubt grabbed the greasy Nord by the collar of his filthy, ragged clothes. "You'll get your money when we confirm his story, as we agreed."

Ganir then heard another rustle. Rulindil had swiped his gloves clean. Probably disgusted.

"So he has talked!" Gissur sounded triumphant. "I  _knew_  it!"

"Everyone talks in the end," came Rulindil's dark and grim chuckle. "Even our new guest will soon find out."

"You mean the rat? Ancano?"

Ganir dug his teeth in the dead elf's neck as his blood began to boil in silent rage and he had to contain himself. They did have Ancano. They had betrayed him. And the more he heard, the more furious he got.

"Yes, I've but just begun. It's quite…amusing to see him fall from grace as I break and burn him bit by bit." Rulindil spoke as if it was the most common daily state of affairs for him…It most likely was. "He has yet to talk though, but all in time."

"I…I could help you." Gissur quipped in a repulsive, crawling fashion. "I'd show 'im!"

"You'd do well to remember your place,  _human_  and know that this is a matter for the Thalmor." Rulindil shoved something into Gissur's hands. "Take these dossiers to Her Ladyship's office and be gone."

Ganir pushed himself against the wall as Gissur, swearing under his breath, passed the pantry and walked into Elenwen's office, of which the entry was sided by the statues of eagles, and then left. Ganir slowly and silently dropped the dead guard to the floor and peeked around the corner. He just caught a glimpse of Rulindil who made his way up a separate stairway.

_If I get my claws on you, Thalmor filth…But…_  He glanced in the direction of Elenwen's office where Gissur had gone earlier.  _First things first_.  
  


* * *

 

_I couldn't let it happen again…I know you don't need my help or protection…Winterhold will always be a safe haven for you, Ancano…_

Her voice kept him sane. Though he had only been here for a few days, Rulindil had been merciless and relentless in his torture methods and it seemed to last for ages until Ancano could finally take no more and passed out. His mouth and throat were parched dry and he was starving for food, though he doubted he could eat anything if he was given any. His body was bathed in cold sweat and burned the fresh lacerations. He could feel the warm blood seep from the wounds. He couldn't feel his face anymore, nor could he think clearly; no doubt an effect from the poison that had been forced down his throat so he couldn't cast in case a silencing spell wore off.

"Let's go over this again, shall we?"

Ancano's stomach churned, but eased in morbid relief as Rulindil occupied himself in satisfying his sadistic needs with the Breton in the cage next to his. The High Elf closed his eyes, wincing and furrowing his brow in concentration to drown out the Breton's shrieks and cries for mercy.

"I swear, I've told you all I know!" Etienne gagged and gasped for air. "His name's Esbern. Weird, old guy. Hides in the Ratway Vaults. It's all I know-AUGH!"

Lightning crackled from Rulindil's fingers and tore at the Breton's body until Ancano heard no more. Was he dead? Rulindil emerged from the cage, wiping the blood from his gloves with a rag he discarded. "Pathetic. Weak…" His lips curled as he glanced at Ancano. "Ah, Ancano...Mighty, noble Ancano of Winterhold…How about we have a little chat again?"

"Even if you find anything, it's beyond your reach… or understanding, for that matter. You'll not hear it from me." Ancano defiantly glared up at Rulindil with what little strength he still had. He was still not sure whether he was defiant out of spite or because he felt a degree of loyalty to Cirilonde and the College. Not that they would ever know…

"We'll see." Rulindil pulled Ancano's head back by the hair. "The Lord Exarch will get to the bottom of it, no doubt. In the meantime, I'll make sure to find out what else you've hidden from us."

He tried to fight it, but as the lightning surged through his body and fire lashed at his flesh, Ancano howled in pain. Rulindil laughed as he mocked and taunted him. Black dots danced before Ancano's eyes and he knew it wouldn't be long before he lost consciousness again, but Rulindil suddenly stopped. Ancano slumped in the chains that restrained him and he struggled to follow what happened, but he heard the clatter of armor. Once…Twice…Thrice…Three guards. Down. Dead. Rulindil had spun around as he heard the spatter of their blood.

Before the Third Emissary could even make to taunt, a red-eyed shadow lunged for him, side-stepped and grabbed Rulindil's arm, tearing it from its socket, but no cries, threats or other sounds escaped Rulindil's lips as a dagger was rammed into his throat, which was ripped out shortly afterwards..

It was Ganir…He had never been so terrified of such a gruesome sight, but at the same time, felt so relieved. _She knew…She must have..._

"Ancano…" Ganir knelt down before him. The vampire reeked of blood and his entire body was bathed in it. He shuddered to think of the terrible fate that had befallen his victims, but he felt no remorse or pity. They had all turned on him…and for what? "Hey…" Ganir tapped his cheek. "Look up. Can you hear me? Let me get you out those chains."

Ganir caught him once he freed Ancano from his bonds, who had no strength left in his body. He made to speak, but blood spat from his mouth as he burst into a coughing fit. "Ondolemar…" Ancano gasped for air. "Markarth." _Cirilonde…_ Darkness.

Ganir swore, but was relieved to find that Ancano was still alive, but unconscious. After throwing some dirty rags over Ancano to keep him somewhat warm, he threw the High Elf over his shoulder and looked for the hatch Malborn had mentioned. "You had better hang in there." He told the unconscious Ancano. "I went through a lot of effort to get your pompous ass out of this mess."

Logically, no response came, which kind of saddened him. It was a miracle Ancano was even alive given the state he was in. He found the hatch hidden away under a thick layer of straw and he raised it.  _Azura be praised if I will ever get this stench out my armor…or hair…_  Reluctant but with caution, Ganir lowered himself down the hatch before dragging Ancano down and slinging him over his shoulder again and waded through the knee-height layer of blood, bone and other vile remains before he got out and walked out through a passage, where he was greeted by the cold night air.

There, Delphine stood waiting for him, seated on the horse cart with the reins in hand, accompanied by a furious Malborn. But when he saw the Dark Elf was drenched in blood, he knew better than to open his mouth.

"Have you  _any_  idea that they can be here any minute?!" Delphine exclaimed, swearing and cursing like he'd never heard any Breton woman do. "What were you thinking?!" The fact he just casually looked up to the Embassy without saying anything, only infuriated her more.

"Three…Two….One…"

"What in the-," Delphine and Malborn's eyes widened in horror when an explosion shook the Embassy's walls and a gout of white-hot flame erupted from Elenwen's solar, blasting a hole in the wall. Debris was sent flying everywhere and glass shattered everywhere.

"Hrm…guess I overdid it on the fire salts." Ganir observed dryly. "Oh well, it'll buy us some time."

" ** _DID YOU JUST BLOW UP ELENWEN'S SOLAR?!_** " Malborn's voice pitched as he bellowed his disbelief. He was dead. He was so, so dead if they ever caught him. No, he'd be  _lucky_  if he died.

Ganir obviously wasn't too fussed and he laid Ancano down on the furs in the cart. "Like I said, they'll be occupied for the time being. Let's get going. To Markarth."

She knew they didn't have the time to argue, and Delphine clenched her jaw, still furious with Ganir for taking such a risk. And for who? Some fucking High Elf who was a Thalmor. Ganir made sure Ancano was warm and hidden away in the furs that lay in the cart and then climbed into the empty crate himself. They made it away from Solitude, but once on they reached the deserted roads, far away from Solitude, Delphine halted the cart. It was silent, save for the howl of wolves in the distance. Even from here, the thick, white smoke that emanated from the Embassy was visible.

"I can't go further from this point," Delphine shook her head. "I can't risk it."

"It's fine," Ganir climbed out of the crate and stretched his long legs. He had worse rides, but it hadn't been comfortable. His spine cracked so loudly it made Malborn jump.

"Do you have any idea what danger the both of you put me in?" Malborn had been quiet, but shaking with silent rage. The casual demeanor of the Dark Elf set him off. "I was lucky to get out. Elenwen was furious! I am so dead…"

"And so is Ancano if we don't make it to Markarth," Ganir crossed his arms over his chest. "Think of the Thalmor what you will, but he's not like them."  _Seriously, did I just say that out loud? Urgh, never mind, I'll punch him when he's better to compensate._

"You'll have to take him there yourself then, Dragonborn." Delphine climbed off the cart. "I'll meet you again in Riverwood…I mean, you  _did_  find something, right?"

"You'll hear from me when he's made it." He was angry. He had risked his neck for her 'information'. Granted, he had managed to save Ancano in the progress, his main objective but for so far, after all he'd been through, Delphine had not once repaid or thanked him. Hell, working with her hadn't paid off at all.

"I'll take you," said Malborn. "On the condition that you better help me get the hell out of Skyrim."

"They'll be able to help you. So you better get going." Ganir paid Delphine no further heed. Malborn took the reins and they rode off again. After he was sure Malborn wasn't playing tricks and wouldn't, he climbed into the cart to tend to Ancano. He wasn't much of a healer, but he had brought some potions, anticipating this. It wasn't enough to restore Ancano, but it was enough to buy them time.

_You really shouldn't make a habit out of this._ He thought. _This Ondolemar better be able to help._  
  
  


* * *

  
Taurmillan stood on a plateau west of Winterhold from where he had a clear view on the College from a safe distance. S _o this is where you have been. Such a dreadful and dreary place._  He scowled, unable to imagine why she'd wanted to come here. It was cold and the people were dense, rude and uncivilized. Sylva was at his side and regarded the surroundings with the same disdain as her master.

"The soul gems have been put in place, My Lord Exarch. At your signal, your men will come forth from the portals to take control of the College." She proudly held her fist to her chest.

He but nodded and that was all she needed to know. She retreated into the shadows that seemed to swallow her and she vanished into the cold night.

One by one, the beacons were lit and illuminated the night sky with purple beams as the portals were activated. Taurmillan's lips curled when the silence was replaced with cries of panic and chaos erupted from the College. He made his way down to the streets of what once was a glorious city that now lay in ruin and little of it remained. As he walked down the street, he saw how dark windows suddenly held the glow of candle-light as the villagers had been awoken by the ruckus and hurried to their windows, if not rush outside, to see what the bloody hell was going on at the cursed college this time.

When they saw him, the Winterhold guards ran up to him. "Hold it right there in the name of the Jarl, Thalmor scum! You have no place here-,"

Annoyed that they were in his way, Taurmillan drew his saber. "So your blood it is, then," said one of the guards, but they were no match for the graceful, swift High Elf, who ever so calmly side-stepped the first assailant and beheaded him. Taurmillan then charged forward, gutting the second guard and he impaled the third guard, who made to flee, from behind on his blade. The untouched snow was tainted red in but a matter of seconds and Taurmillan shook the blood of his blade before he sheathed it. After casting a warning glare at those who had witnessed the 'fight', he continued his way over to the College.

In the chaos of the battle that took place there, no one had seen him overlook the battle from the walkway above the gates. It didn't take him long to find who he was looking for and his lips curled.  _Ah, there you are, my dearest._

She had grown quite strong in the short time she had been here and her spell-casting had become a dance of death. Though his men had the upper hand, Taurmillan had to admit that the pitiful lot of mages, led by Cirilonde and a scrawny old Nord, who had to be the Arch-Mage, Tolfdir, held their ground.

He cast a sideways glance at the Wood Elf, who had seen him right away and joined her Master's side. "Sylva," he said calmly. "Be a dear..."

She nodded and leapt down. Aside from being as agile as a feline, the snow broke her fall. She dove past, under and leapt over the fighting Thalmor and College mages. She rammed the old Nord to the ground and though Tolfdir fought back, punching her in the face, she easily overwhelmed him and held him in a grip with a dagger at his throat.

The moment Cirilonde and the College mages saw their leader had been apprehended, they all backed down and were forced into a corner, huddled together with their wards raised by General Thorelas and his men. "We surrender!" Cirilonde cried. "We yield!" She then yelled in the Altmer tongue. Only then did they relent, but held their arms at the ready.

Taurmillan felt a wicked satisfaction from Cirilonde's horrified expression when he mockingly clapped his hands while making his way over to her. "I commend your prowess and determination, dearest, but I'm afraid that it ends here, lest we need to prove a point, starting with your Arch-Mage."

"Do you know this guy?" Brelyna asked, bewildered though she had no idea what he had said. Onmund's face bore an expression of confusion and betrayal. They all looked at her, questioning. What was going on?!

"Let go of me!" Tolfdir snarled, trying to punch the Wood Elf again. Sylva grit her teeth and sought her Master's permission to kill him.

"Don't hurt him!" Cirilonde's eyes shot from Taurmillan to the Wood Elf.

"Filthy, knife-eared scum!" Tolfdir hissed when the Wood Elf pressed her dagger harder against Tolfdir's throat, drawing blood.

"Stop!" Cirilonde cried.  _Not Tolfdir. Not him. Taurmillan, what are you doing?!_ General Thorelas stepped forward and grabbed Cirilonde by the arm, dragging her over to Taurmillan. She burst out in rage and disbelief. "What are you doing here? Why are you attacking us?!" Taurmillan but raised his hand as a threat and she was immediately reminded whom she spoke too and she cast her eyes down.

"Your  _tongue._ " He hissed with narrowed eyes.

"Taurmillan…" She swallowed and obeyed him. "I beg you…Don't harm them."

"That's better." She winced when he took a firm hold of her chin. "How you disappoint me, my Cirilonde. Must you cross me?"

"I had no intention too. When they attacked, we but defended ourselves!" She was close to tears, fearing what he might do to her and the others. "I would never cross you, Taurmillan. You know I am yours. Please don't harm them. I will come."

"If only your brother had been so wise to know his place and whom he served." He said icily. "But I didn't simply just come to retrieve you to make you honor your engagement to me." His fingers wrapped around her throat. "Tell me, my beloved, where is this artefact that this…Ancano failed to mention to us?"

"Ancano…" Her heart skipped a beat. "…what did you do to him?" His lips curled into a wicked smirk. "What did you do to him?!"

She gasped for air when his hold tightened. "If you are not quick about it, your precious Arch-Mage and the rest of your pitiful friends will follow him in death." He watched her heart break as he had just confirmed her fears and tears streamed down her face. "Let that be a reminder that you. Are. Mine."

 

 


	16. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You have no heart." In spite of her fear, speaking her mind was punished as he took a firm hold of her throat.  
> "On the contrary, you shall find my heart and riches to be yours if you cease defying and displeasing me!" He hissed in a cold and menacing tone.

**Chapter 15**

Whereas the Midden was a dark, forbidden place to most, it now functioned as a holding cell where the College's mages were separately locked away in cages or chained to the walls. All of their wrists were bound with magic-suppressing irons.

Cirilonde was all too aware of everyone's eyes on her which showed a mixture of confusion, fear and betrayal. No one dared ask or speak, however, as the Thalmor guards had been merciless. The moment one so much as even breathed wrong, they received a harsh blow to anywhere they could hit.

Onmund rubbed his sore jaw as they had made an example out of him the moment he asked them what this was all about.

All of their heads shot up when General Thorelas descended the steps into the Midden. With a snap of his fingers at Cirilonde, the guards retrieved her from her cage. She glared at the General, who bowed mockingly before he walked ahead of her while the guards took her with them.

The sight of the College's courtyard was devastating. The statue had already been destroyed by the dragon, but the gates had been blown from its hinges and the walls were scarred by the flames and clatter of blades. Guards patrolled the walls and prevented anyone from even so much as look at the College, lest they get an arrow buried between their eyes.

Inside, she found an even larger chaos, as Taurmillan's men had torn everything apart to find what they were looking for and her heart broke as she passed the Arcaneum, where books had been thrown off the shelves and some had been burned on a pile in the Hall of Elements.

_How dare he do this?!_  Any anger she had, however, was replaced by dread as she was brought before Taurmillan, who was in the Arch-Mage's quarters. Against her expectations, she found that nothing was touched there…yet.

Taurmillan gave Thorelas a sharp nod and he and his men left Cirilonde alone with him. The chains that kept her hands together rattled when she raised her hands. He had approached her and she feared he would strike her. Instead, he pushed her hands down and claimed her lips, pulling her against him. She submitted to his demanding touch while his fingers wound themselves into her hair and held her in place. His kiss was cold, demanding and domineering and his tongue forced itself into her mouth. A deep, almost feral growl escaped him as he tasted her. "All in time, my Cirilonde. We have the years ahead of us and I will have what I want," he purred once he had pulled away from her.

"First my brother, then you tried to have me murdered…You marched your men and attacked the College and you  _murdered_  Ancano!" Her voice shook in anger and she felt her heart break again.  _Ancano…_  "What more do you want from me? What would your father think of this?!"

"My father was foolish enough to cross me once he found out about my plans for conquest. He was the one who tried to have you killed." He held her hand against his chest. "I could never do such a thing…"

"What are you talking about?" She shuddered in the wake of his touch as his fingers trailed her neckline. "Why are you really here? These people haven't wronged you."

"Tell me, my Cirilonde, why is it you seek to protect these worthless humans?" He now looked her in the eyes, holding her face while his thumb caressed her cheek. "You plead and you beg for my mercy and declare your obedience to me, yet, you ache for that lowborn filth. I can give you all you desire, yet you won't give me what I desire."

"You have no heart." In spite of her fear, speaking her mind was punished as he took a firm hold of her throat.

"On the contrary, you shall find my heart and riches to be yours if you cease defying and displeasing me!" He hissed in a cold and menacing tone.

"I already told you, there is  _nothing_  here that holds such power!" Her eyes pleaded with him to let go as she gulped for air. "I would never lie to you…"

His grip on her throat loosened. There was a malicious glimmer in his eyes when he smirked wickedly. "If my men were to ask your…lesser associates, would they tell me the same?"

"They would tell you what they know." She averted her gaze from his cold and icy one. "The artefact was destroyed due its misuse. I vow to you that this is the truth!"

"Vow?" He let go of her and turned away, only to briefly behold the Arch-Mage's quarters. As dreary as this place was, it perhaps was an ideal location from which to start a base of operations and expand. He then glanced at her over his shoulder. From the moment he had laid eyes on her years ago, he'd been set on claiming the gentle beauty as his. She would soon forget about that lowborn filth he'd apprehended in Solitude. His unity with her would bring forth a lineage of beautiful and gifted offspring. Why would she not see his ambitions his way?  _Perhaps it is time I remind you of the power I hold…_

"Even on the very lives of your elders?" He asked her calmly. "Your mother and father have been left in quite the delicate situation due to recent events…It would be a shame if they were to be linked to my father's…murder."

"No…Please don't tell me…" She shook her head, covering her mouth with her hand as tears formed in her eyes.

"Are you aware that they are at my mercy, my beloved Cirilonde?" She fell to her knees at his feet and buried her face in her hands, uttering 'no' repeatedly and pleaded with him. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and forced her to look up at him. "Now, I ask you a final time…Would you make this vow on their very lives that none of this pitiful, human lot is hiding something powerful from me here?"

_Auri-El…Divines. Forgive me…_ She averted her gaze from his in spite of the pain he inflicted on her by holding her hair. "I vow this on their lives," she croaked, choking on her sobs.

He then raised his voice. "Thorelas!"

Thorelas and his men had been waiting on the other side of the door and came to retrieve her. "How about we question my betrothed's precious little pets about the artefact. I assume you have everything prepared?"

Thorelas nodded. "But of course, my Lord Exarch."  
  


* * *

  
"I'm telling you, Ancano betrayed us!" Nirya spat. The guards had left them alone to be guarded by a handful of frost, flame and storm atronachs that paced back and forth past the cages.

"Shut it, you daft cow. Didn't you hear? He's  _dead_." Faralda couldn't quite believe she was defending him, but she had heard the exchange between Cirilonde and this…Taurmillan, though she didn't exactly understand what was going on just yet.

"Just what are they doing here?! It's gone, so what do they hope to achieve by doing all this?" Brelyna's breath came from her lips in puffs of smoke and she clung to herself in a desperate attempt to stay warm. The Labyrinth was a place of initiation for the new Arch-Mages, completely frozen over and infested with ice-wraiths and trolls. Due to Tolfdir's age, he hadn't been forced to pass the trial, but it was near where they currently were being held. The cold from the sea and Skyrim's wind from the Labyrinth had numbed their toes and fingers by now and if they were to be here for much longer, they could very well freeze to death.

"They don't  _care_  whether it's gone or not. As long as they believe something is here, they'll burn this College to the ground if they have too!" Nirya exclaimed. "If we'd just killed Ancano to begin with we wouldn't have had to deal with all this nonsense to begin with, but no, Cirilonde had to 'spare his life'."

"Back off, Nirya." Onmund snapped. "She did what she thought was right!"

"Onmund is right," J'Zhargo said. His ears were flattened on his head as he glared at the High Elf. "As bad as Ancano can be, J'Zhargo does not believe that he would betray us. J'Zhargo agrees, though, they very well may kill us."

"Let's not lose hope. All of you." Tolfdir looked at them. His legs ached from being forced to stand as he had been chained to the wall. As afraid as he was, they all were such wonderful people, young and old. _Savos and Mirabelle would've been so proud of you…_  It was his duty to protect and prepare them, whatever may come. They wouldn't go down without a fight if that was the case. "They may have us caged and chained, but look at what we've all been through and survived. They shan't find anything. We'll figure something out, and don't forget that Ganir is still out there. He'll find a way to save us and we'll take back what is ours."

When they heard one of the hatches to the Midden open, they immediately fell silent and waited patiently. It wasn't just Cirilonde who was brought down by the guards and the general, but the man who had led the assault on the College as well. The Wood Elf assassin was at his side, also, like a malicious, blood-thirsty pet on his leash.

Tolfdir's jaw clenched and his stomach churned. Taurmillan was not just an intimidating appearance, but a strong, intense magical aura surrounded him. It explained the fear that even Cirilonde felt for him. Rather than return her to her cage, the guards held Cirilonde in place. She had been crying and now struggled to look strong.  _You poor girl, what did that beast do to you?!_

"I hope for your friends, that your claims were correct," Taurmillan did not look at Cirilonde as he spoke in the Altmer tongue. "Perhaps we should start with the Arch-Mage and set an example…"  
Cirilonde's eyes locked with Tolfdir's, begging for his forgiveness.

_Talos guide me…_ Tolfdir straightened his back and stared the Wood Elf down who stood in front of him while the guards loosened the chains that held the old Nord in place, but the moment the tension was released and he made to step forward, the Wood Elf yanked at the chains and tripped him. He fell to the ground and to his horror, the Amulet of Talos flew from his sleeve where he had hidden it.

Thorelas unsheathed his fine, elven blade when he saw it. "No…no!" Cirilonde was held back by the guards from whom she tried to break free.

"You care for this old wretch?" Thorelas sneered as the tip of his blade picked the amulet from the ground. Sylva used the disgusting, rusted and blood-stained old chains to hold Tolfdir in his place, eager for blood, but Taurmillan shook his head. Grudgingly, she obeyed her master and glared at Cirilonde.

"It would seem that your Arch-Mage is a heretic…" Taurmillan reached for the cord and it dangled from his fingertip as he eyed it in disgust before peering down at the old Nord. He then addressed him in the common tongue, which made him sound even more harsh and disdainful. "Are you aware what we do with Talos worshippers, old man?"

"Do you honestly think a man of my age is afraid to die?" Tolfdir snarled. "Mark my words, elf. I don't know what you hope to achieve by doing this, but there will be consequences for your actions!"

"Do you even realize that you're not talking to some lowborn filth like that Ancano but to a Lord Exarch?" Taurmillan's eyes narrowed. "You should rather concern yourself with the consequences for your heretic beliefs…" With but the snap of his fingers, Tolfdir's amulet of Talos was set ablaze by Taurmillan, who then crushed it under his boot. Tolfdir trembled in pure rage, much to Taurmillan's satisfaction. "A  _human_ ascending to divinity. Preposterous."

He then looked at the pathetic lot of mages, young and old, all angry or fearful, in their cages. "Unless any one of you have something to tell me, it seems you will soon have need for a new Arch-Mage…"

"No! Leave him alone!" Brelyna bellowed. "There's nothing here!"

"You animal!" Onmund received a punch for his insult. "He's done nothing wrong!"

"You would kill him because of his beliefs? Are you so afraid of an old man, you coward?!" Faralda spat in the Altmer tongue. She too, was immediately brought to 'justice' as a guard reached through the bars of the cage and rammed her against the steel with full force. "Cowards…" she spat in spite of the pain.

"Sylva…It seems they're not convinced. Be a dear." Taurmillan didn't even flinch when the Wood Elf pulled her dagger out and slowly buried it deep inside of the old Nord's shoulder, who cried out in pure anguish while he tried to throw the Wood Elf off him. Colette cried out for mercy, Phinis swore profoundly and Drevis was so enraged he nearly threw his cage over. Brelyna was unable to bear it after pleading for mercy as well but the situation was quickly contained after a few cracks of the guards' whips. They were all forced to watch, nevertheless in silent horror, rage and fear while Tolfdir lay on the ground in pure anguish at Sylva's mercy.

"Break every bone in my body if you must, wretched scum!" Tolfdir snarled and heaved as he struggled to stay conscious but the pain was downright excruciating and black dots danced before his eyes. "You'll never break my spirit or that of my students."

"That would be far too tedious, though tempting," Taurmillan said calmly. "However, I could be merciful if you were to renounce your preposterous beliefs and tell me what powerful artefact you've hidden here and where." His cold, gray eyes scanned their reactions.  _They are either brave or foolish to try and thwart me. I know something is here…_

"Stop it Taurmillan!" Cirilonde cried. "There is nothing here, I've told you!"

Taurmillan nodded at Sylva again, whose eyes lit up with a morbid glee as she wriggled the blade in Tolfdir's wound. The dagger's blade scraped against the bone and tore at his flesh and left him writhing and screaming on the floor he was held down against. "Monsters! ANIMALS!" He roared.

Though they wanted nothing more than help their Arch-Mage; a helpless old man, all of the mages knew that if they told anything about the Eye or Staff of Magnus, this man would no doubt do terrible things to Skyrim and the world if he got a hold of it.

"Sylva…" The Wood Elf raised her dagger to inflict another, agonizing wound on the old Nord, when a powerful, immense blast of energy blew her right away and blinded everyone in the room.  
Sylva's dagger clattered on the ground and she herself was flung against the wall. Tolfdir curled up and held the bleeding, terrible wound from which the dagger still protruded.

Through the whole Midden, the voice resounded so powerful and infuriated that the walls of the College shook on its foundations. " **ENOUGH!** "

Cirilonde fell to her knees as a cold block of ice sank in her stomach along with her heart, shaking her head in disbelief. "No…"

Before them all, hovering over Tolfdir, was the Augur of Dunlain. Taurmillan looked over his shoulder at Cirilonde. "It seems that you have lied, my Cirilonde…"

_No…What have you done?!_

 

* * *

 

When Ancano's eyes fluttered open, he beheld the clear Skyrim night sky. Countless stars glittered in the darkness, accompanied by the red and golden moons, Masser and Secunda. He grew nauseated by the hobbling and wobbling motion of the horse-drawn cart he was in and in spite of the immense pain he was in, he tried to prop himself up on his elbows.

Ganir, who had been engrossed with reading through the dossiers he'd stolen from the Embassy, looked up. "Didn't expect you to wake up until we reached Markarth."

"I never expected to even survive this ordeal…" The High Elf grit his teeth and hissed from the pain. Though Ganir's potions had healed some of his wounds, some opened up again and began to bleed. He waved a dismissive hand, however, as he healed them himself. Unlike Cirilonde, however, Ancano's healing incantations were demanding and firm, nor did they mend his flesh as flawless as she could, but it would have to do for now.

"Cirilonde will be able to heal your wounds when we get back to the College, no doubt," Ganir said. He had joined the High Elf's side to help him sit up; something that neither of them would've done or tolerated in the past.

Ancano shook his head. "We can't return to the College. Not now. It's too dangerous."

"I figured that," Ganir said. "But still, why Markarth?"

Ancano was silent for a moment as he felt a terrible, hollow and gnawing feeling at his heart. He looked at Ganir. "Tell me, is Cirilonde to be wed?"

Ganir's expression was a troubled one, but also confused as to why he would ask such a thing.

"When I was apprehended, I was not alone with Elenwen," Ancano said in response to the Dark Elf's expression. "A Lord Exarch was present who claimed his pursuit of the matter with the College himself as he'd come to Skyrim to retrieve his betrothed in the first place…It has to be her."

Ganir's brow furrowed deeper. There was defeat in the High Elf's voice. "A Lord Exarch…" Ganir looked at Malborn, who had clearly been listening. He didn't trust the little Wood Elf but they had little choice for the moment but to put up with him. Ancano recognized the Wood Elf as well. "Long story," Ganir said when they met eyes. "He's taking us to Markarth. As for the Lord Exarch and Cirilonde…It's a complicated story, and how Ciri and I met in the first place."

"She's in grave danger…As is the College," Ancano shook his head. "I need to know everything."

Ganir nodded. "We have a lot to discuss to begin with. I just hope that this Ondolemar can be trusted."

"He can be, trust me." A sentence Ancano never thought either to utter to the Dark Elf before him. "And thank you. I would have been dead were it not for you."

Ganir nodded in acknowledgement to the thanks. "I came back from Kynesgrove and found that you were gone. Ciri told me she knew right away that something was up." He then proceeded to tell Ancano about Cirilonde's situation back home and how the arranged marriage to Taurmillan was meant to save her family from disgrace and possible persecution for Anciel's failure to protect a Wise. He told him about how he saved her from the Thalmor assassins, only to run into an ambush organized by the Imperials to put a stop to the Stormcloaks, followed by the dragon's attack on Helgen.

"They found out about the artefact via Estormo. I had instructed him at the time to keep an eye on you and Cirilonde…He's the one that no doubt followed you to Labyrinthian," Ancano grit his teeth. "If I hadn't neglected that possibility, none of this would have happened. And this Taurmillan…I will tear him apart."

"Not if I get my claws on him first," Ganir said. "However, how exactly do you plan to approach Ondolemar? I doubt we can just come knocking on his door."

"He's never alone," said Ancano. "After an assassination attempt, he's always accompanied by two bodyguards. You'll have to knock them out and corner him. If you manage to do that and mention a certain incident in Camlorn to him, he'll know I sent you."

"I appreciate all of your little plans and the tea-party you're having back there, but I could really use some rest and food." Malborn said to them over his shoulder. He was still angry, but he'd calmed down a bit. "And don't forget to include the part where you get me out of Skyrim before they find us."

Ganir suppressed an annoyed sigh but saw Ancano shared his sentiment. "We should be able to make camp nearby," Ganir said. "Just get off the road."

Malborn followed the Dark Elf's instructions but it wasn't as easy to guide the horse-drawn cart off the beaten path into the wilds. Yet, they managed to force their way over the dirt-road away from the main road into the forest. They hid the cart in the bushes and continued on foot to settle near the creek to make camp there. They used the furs and leathers from the cart to build a make-shift tent. Ancano leaned back against a tree stump and read the dossiers the Dark Elf had left him to read while he himself was gone to hunt.

_So, these two are the last of the known Blades that are still around…_ He mused.  _But even the Thalmor don't know as to how or why the dragons have returned…Maybe they thought the College knew something..._

Ancano ran a hand through his hair. He had been a loyal agent to the Thalmor for years and had always acted in the best interest of, even in regards to the Eye. It was simply far too dangerous. But despite all his efforts, he had been stripped from his ranks and had been tortured for information. Though Elenwen had called him a traitor, if anyone had been betrayed, it was he. And for what? Power? It was meaningless if it could destroy the world, something Elenwen and this Taurmillan didn't care about.  _Cirilonde…_ Conflict took a hold of him as he recalled everything that Ganir had told him. He shook his head, he didn't want to think about it now as it left him with a sour and hollow, terrible feeling.

"You should've seen the death the Dark Elf left in his wake," Malborn said darkly while poking the flames with a stick. Though Ancano had easily lit the firewood ablaze with a spell, it was another matter to keep it going. "Elenwen knew something was up when she couldn't find him…I saw what he did to them. As much as I hate them…it was gruesome…He's dangerous. And yet, he went through all that, just to get you out of there."

Ancano didn't respond to the Wood Elf. Not only did he distrust Malborn, he didn't even know how to respond. "Ganir is dangerous, yes, but I trust him. Had he not come, I would have been dead."

The Wood Elf snorted. "I hope so. If you don't get me out of Skyrim, I might as well kill myself right here and now. Elenwen was  _furious_  when she found out what had happened. I managed to get away in the chaos."

"I assure you that if you prove reliable through this ordeal, Ondolemar and I shall help you escape Skyrim." Ancano looked at Malborn. "If you fear for your life so, however, I do wonder what moved you to cooperate with the operation in the first place."

"Not like I have a lot of choice in the matter at this point, do I?" Malborn remarked bitterly. "Don't get me wrong, the Thalmor murdered my family and I believe they deserve what they got coming to them, but they will come looking for us the moment they can."

"If you spend less time complaining, we should be able to get on our way again once you've eaten." He then looked at Ancano. "We have a lot of things to discuss."  


* * *

  
  
Markarth was a major city located in Skyrim's Reach in the west of the land near the border of High Rock. The city's architecture was unlike any other in Skyrim as it was housed in the remains of an ancient, Dwemer city and carved from the rock face surrounding it. The waterfalls that came from the high mountain chain's glaciers surrounding it, poured down through the city and nourished the plant life in its wake before pooling at the bottom of the city at the filthy, polluting Cidhna Silver mine. Jarl Igmund ruled his hold from the Mournful throne in Understone Keep, where Ondolemar was stationed to ensure not only the Jarl would do well to remember his place, but to put an end to the Talos worship the region was renowned for; with an emphasis on 'was'.

Most of the Dwemer architecture lay in ruin and had been repaired over the years, but the heavy, steam-powered machinery still functioned. To what end, however, no one really knew, but the hum and hiss of the pistons and cylinders were a soothing sound that echoed through the Keep and also kept it warm. Ondolemar and his bodyguards rounded the corner as they had just finished their last round of the eve through the city, which would have been beautiful were it not tainted by the silver mine and the Silver-Blood family's corruption.  _All in time, however…_ Ondolemar thought with a smirk.

They walked down the long, dim-lit hallway to his chambers. The walls were decorated with Dwemer-style, rough carvings, lined with Dwemer steel to support the weight of it all. Overhead, along the walls and ceilings ran pipes of which no one knew the purpose as they led into the ruins of Nchuand-Zel below the Understone Keep and the city.

His ears were always keen and he looked up when the rhythm of the pipes differentiated from normal, only to be followed by another rattle. He narrowed his eyes, as did his bodyguards. They lingered for a moment, staring up and listening. Whatever it had been, it was gone now. They made to continue their way when a dark shadow leapt down from the pipes but Ondolemar's bodyguards were too late to respond and their heads were rammed against each other, effectively knocking them out. Ondolemar immediately drew his elven sword and lunged for the Dark Elf, who leapt away from the blade that missed him by just. "How  _dare_ you! In the name of the Dominion, you are under arrest!"

"Whoa, easy, I just knocked them out!" The Dark Elf exclaimed while he frantically leapt, ducked and dodged the Thalmor's sword. "I need to talk to you! ACK!" Ganir ducked behind a statue just in time as flame shot forth from Ondolemar's hand and barely missed him.

"You should have thought of that before you assaulted my men!" Ondolemar snarled. "I'll gut you like a pig, mongrel!"

He put his hand on the nearby, Dwemer steel pipe and with his hand, he heated it up so fast the steam blew a valve from its place and forced the Dark Elf from his hiding place. Briefly blinded, the Dark Elf shrieked in surprise and was forced to draw his daggers to defend himself against the blows the Thalmor dealt him who relentlessly pressured him with both sword and spell. "I will enjoy tearing you apart!"

"That's not what you said to the prince in Camlorn!" The Dark Elf ducked and kicked the feet from under Ondolemar, who made a swift recovery by rolling back so he had the momentum to jump back to his feet. In the process, his hood was pulled back and the Dark Elf eyed the Thalmor whose face was set in a snarl.

Unlike most High Elves, Ondolemar's head was shaven, save for a goatee. He was much stronger and muscular than Ancano was with a wider jaw and a straight nose.

Ondolemar shot a bolt of lightning at Ganir, who charged forward in an attempt to tackle the Thalmor, but against his expectations, the High Elf side-stepped the Dark Elf and rammed him with his full weight against the wall. Ondolemar slammed the hilt of his sword against the Dark Elf's hand to rid him of the first dagger. He then tore the other dagger from the Dark Elf's other hand and held the tip of his blade against the Dark Elf's chest. "And what would you know what happened in Camlorn, mongrel?" His dark green eyes locked with the Dark Elf's red ones.

Whoever this Dark Elf was, he had been capable enough to sneak his way into the Keep and knock his bodyguards out. Yet, he was not here to kill him, which judging by his skill, he easily could have done. It infuriated him that he was obviously toying with him.

He pushed the blade through the Dark Elf's armor, who grunted as the tip of the sword scratched the surface of his skin. In spite of that, however, the Dark Elf raised his hands in a mocking manner while his lips curled into the most handsome, rogue-ish grin Ondolemar had ever seen a man sport in the face of death. Ondolemar's nostrils flared in rage and he pushed his blade in deeper, drawing blood from the Dark Elf, who hissed in pain. "Well?" Ondolemar grabbed hold of the Dark Elf's throat. "You wanted to talk, then talk before I impale you on my sword."

"That's not quite what you said to the prince whom you impaled in quite a different way and place…Or was it the other way around…?"

Ondolemar's cheeks colored a bright red before he gathered himself. "How  _dare_ you imply-!" When he pulled back his blade to teach the Dark Elf a lesson, the Dark Elf grabbed hold of his hand with a surprising amount of strength and punched him. Then, with a swift swing, he disarmed the Thalmor and flung him against the wall. With no effort at all, the Ganir held Ondolemar in a grip and pushed him against the cold, hard stone and steel wall.

Ondolemar's fingers crackled with flame as he struggled against the Dark Elf's hold in an attempt to break free but the Dark Elf pressed his hard, strong body against him from behind and held him in place. "I'll admit I like it a little rough from time to time, but I just fixed my armor and I'd rather not have you impale me that way."

"What do you want from me, you cur!" He spat. He made to elbow him, but tensed up when he heard another most familiar voice.

"If you're quite done playing around, Ganir…" Ancano stood leaning in the doorway to Ondolemar's private quarters. "Long time no see, Ondolemar."

"What is the meaning of this, Ancano?!" Ondolemar exclaimed.

"I thought you would appreciate the jest," he said dryly with a most smug smirk in spite of the pain he was in. "Though you clearly didn't learn from the lesson you were taught in Camlorn."

"So this mongrel is with you?" He glared at the Dark Elf and then narrowed his eyes at Ancano. "And I recall we were not to make mention of that incident  _ever_ again. What in Auri-El's name are you doing here and what is the meaning of all this?!"

"I apologize for the fashion in which we had to approach you, but we require the utmost discretion given the nature of the matter at hand." Ancano approached Ondolemar, lowering his voice. "I didn't think you still had it in you to put up such a fight. You seem to have taken quite the liking to the wine from the region." He gave Ondolemar's side a teasing pat.

"This is coming from a mer who looks like he bedded a She-Orc." Ondolemar snapped at Ancano, who had turned away. "Now would you mind getting your vampire pet off me?"

"You could also ask me nicely, you know." Ondolemar refrained from groaning as the Dark Elf's voice not only brushed past his ear but he could feel the strength of his body pressure his own. "Though you seem quite comfortable…" The Dark Elf continued in a barely, audible whisper.

Ondolemar shot up, enraged and pushed him away. "Don't flatter yourself, mongrel. And get that smug smirk off your face lest I pummel you, Ancano... If anyone heard of this I…" Much to his frustration, Ondolemar was clearly embarrassed and he couldn't hide it. Yet, when one of his bodyguards groaned and stirred, Ancano's expression grew grave and serious. Whatever was going on, no one could know. With a sigh, he waved his hand at Ganir. "Just get my men to their respective quarters. Tell them it was a drill. And you," he pointed an angry, accusing finger at Ancano. "You have a lot of explaining to do. Get inside."

"Thank you." Ancano said and followed Ondolemar into his quarters. Unlike Ancano's chambers at the College of Winterhold, Ondolemar's quarters were far more luxurious. Ancano sat down in a stone, Dwemer seat, which would have been uncomfortable had it not been cushioned. The walls were lined with Dwemer artefacts and tapestries. The weapons of the Thalmor and Dominion were hung above the hearth. Behind the seating area were two doors of which one lead to a balcony which overlooked Markarth and the other led to Ondolemar's private chambers.

"I would  _very_  much like to know what the meaning of this is, Ancano." Ondolemar crossed his arms as he eyed the other High Elf. His face was bruised and blood stained the ragged tunic and pants he wore. "What in Auri-El's name happened to you? Where is your uniform?"

"I would rather burn it than don it again after what happened to me, Ondolemar. I am in need of your aid." Ancano looked weary, not sure where to even begin. "I had nowhere else to go and you are the only man I trust. It is not only my life that is in danger, but that of the College's mages as well."

"What do you mean?" Ondolemar sat down on the stone table across from Ancano. "Please, just tell me."

"I don't even know where to begin," Ancano pinched the bridge of his nose. "However, you must know that what I am about to tell you, cannot leave these chambers. Not even your men may know about it. I am not sure yet whether I have made a grave mistake in coming here and burdening you with it, but…I simply didn't know where else I would be safe from Elenwen's wrath."

"You and your maverick shenanigans." Ondolemar sighed. "What in the hell did you do now?"

"Do me a favor, and grab us some wine first and don't bother pouring it. I'll need a bottle to myself and so will you once you learn the truth," Ancano said wryly.

Ondolemar furrowed his brow. "And the Dark Elf?"

"Ganir Mathendis. The Dragonborn." Ancano replied. "He helped me escape the Embassy where I was held."

Ondolemar heaved a deep, heavy sigh. "Make that two bottles."

 


	17. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited this chapter 27-08 because after reading back through it, I just genuinely wasn't pleased with it so I decided to work through it again, fleshing it out.
> 
> Hope it's better now! Let me know what you think!
> 
> Enjoy your read and day!

**Chapter 16**

 

The Augur of Dunlain hovered over Tolfdir whom he intended to protect, but when four, Thalmor battle-mages leapt forward and used their magic against him, Colette cried for him to get away. But the surge of energy he released had cost him an immense amount of power and he was too weak to get away from the High Elves’ hold on him.  
  
“Let the Augur go!” Colette shrieked. “He’s only trying to protect us!”  
  
The Augur’s aura of light flickered as he tried to get away from the battle-mages’ magical hold on him but they were too powerful and he howled in pain as they tore at the very fabric that enabled his existence as they strengthened their hold on him.   
  
“Your endeavors will only lead to destruction!” The Augur of Dunlain yelled at the High Elf, who stood unmoving, clad in black and golden robes made of silk. “I can’t allow this! I demand you stop at once, I-,”   
  
The battle-mages increased their pressure on the Augur of Dunlain whose light dimmed in response as he made an odd, whimpering sound.  
  
“You’re hurting him, you bastards! Cowards!” Faralda snarled.   
  
 _Interesting…They care about this thing?_  Taurmillan was nevertheless displeased over this development and he glared at Cirilonde over his shoulder.  _What else are you hiding?  
_ “Well, what have you to say for yourself?” His voice had lowered to a venomous, barely audible whisper, grinding his teeth when the Augur tried to put up a fight once more. “Contain that damned thing and get it away from here!” He snapped at the battle-mages, who immediately obeyed his command.  
  
“I yield! Cease your magic at once!” The Augur pleaded as the core of his being became visible but the Thalmor didn’t care and as they pushed him back deeper into the Midden, the Augur of Dunlain slowly dissipated into a small, flickering and contained light.  
  
“He only meant to protect Tolfdir, you animal!” Cirilonde roared, infuriated. “Don’t you even realize what you’ve done?! Let me help him, he’s  going to bleed to death!”  
  
Tolfdir lay curled up on the ground, clutching the terrible wound from which the dagger still protruded. The blood that poured from it, staining the tile and ice red in no time. The High Elf made to break free from the guards’ hold on her.  
  
“Animal?” Taurmillan raised a brow. “He is a  _heretic_  and I will do as I please with them until they cooperate! Take her away!”  
  
“Get your damned claws off me!” Cirilonde snarled and she made to punch one of the guards, but his colleague had seen her make the move to do so and hit her in the lower back with a spell that made her body go numb and knocked her out.

“Master…” Sylva made to get up and join her Lord Exarch but he glared at her.  
  
“Get out of my sight,” he said to her and she made sure she hurried to do so, for she could tell his patience was wearing very thin and she didn’t want to be the victim of it. Tolfdir glared up at the High Elf who towered over him after stepping closer. “It would seem  that you have been hiding something here after all.” There was no mistake to Taurmillan’s soft voice, which held a venomous undertone. Tolfdir initially wondered why the High Elf raised his hand, but then felt how invisible talons lift him from the ground. He made to resist their grasp but the invisible claws only dug deeper into his flesh and held him in place and he glared at the Lord Exarch.   
  
“Just what do you want from us?” Tolfdir snarled. “We have nothing of interest here. The Augur meant but to protect me as we are protective of him.”  
  
“Yes, quite the interesting appearance, no doubt,” Taurmillan replied, clearly displeased. “But it makes me wonder what else you have been hiding here from me. And let me make sure you know that my patience is running very thin. I  _know_  that an artefact is hidden away here.”   
  
The invisible talons tugged at the dagger in his shoulder and Tolfdir grimaced from the pain. “Even if such a damned thing were here, do you honestly think any one of us would ever tell you?”  
   
The old Nord’s body involuntarily tensed when Taurmillan stepped closer to him. He definitely did  _not_ like the smirk that played on the High Elf’s lip, who placed the tips of his fingers on Tolfdir’s forehead. “Perhaps not willingly…” he purred. His eyes glittered wickedly when the old Nord hissed in pain and his whole body went rigid. In spite of that, Tolfdir stared Taurmillan down, struggling against the High Elf’s mind who sought to invade the Nord’s. “I assure you, however, that the more you resist, the more it will hurt…”  
   
“ _Never_!” Tolfdir spat, grinding his teeth because he really wanted to kick or punch the High Elf, who was clearly far too powerful for him. He did not just hold his body but slowly and surely, his mind a prisoner as well. Taurmillan’s mind was powerful and wicked and it was as though razor-sharp blades tore at Tolfdir’s mental defenses. Though he put up quite the fight, it was futile, for he couldn’t handle the strain anymore and blood poured from his nose and eyes, forcing him to give in to the High Elf’s overwhelming power.  
  
 _Tolfdir and Mirabelle were demonstrating their alteration spells to a small group of students. Savos Aren had risen to the rank of Arch-Mage and they were all celebrating. The meeting they had when the Thalmor announced the arrival of one of their own…_ These were but a few fragments of his long life’s memories and he could feel Taurmillan search his mind for what he wanted.  _Cirilonde and Tolfdir made their way into an ancient, forgotten passage hidden away in Saarthal, where they found the Eye, guarded by a Draugr Warlord  
  
_ Tolfdir’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he begged if any Divines had mercy, this would be over soon. Never in all his life, nor could he imagine that anything would be as excruciating as this. Taurmillan clearly didn’t care and he mercilessly pressured Tolfdir’s frail mind more.  
   
 _The Eye of Magnus was taken to the College, who soon possessed Ancano but he was freed by Cirilonde and a mysterious Dark Elf, using a powerful staff. Ancano was defeated but Cirilonde pleaded with them to spare the Thalmor’s life._ Taurmillan felt a pang tear at his chest….Surely not?! The old Nord seemed to be fighting back now, intent on something, but what?!  _Tolfdir watched Cirilonde tend to Ancano’s wounds and despite bickering, Ancano changed for the better. Over time, Cirilonde’s eyes would soften when she saw him, and she would ‘glow’ whenever he was near…_ Taurmillan glared at the Nord. No, that couldn’t be possible!  _The old Nord gave Cirilonde a comforting smile and squeezed her shoulder. “Elves…” Cirilonde’s cheeks and the tips of her ears glowed, and she turned away in an attempt to hide it, shaking her head. “You were right, I shouldn’t have gotten too close, but I couldn’t tell him how I feel.”  
   
_Taurmillan tore his grasp away from Tolfdir. Not only had she unearthed the Eye and Staff of Magnus and protected these humans, but she had grown to  _love_ that filthy, lowborn traitor!  
   
Enraged by the old Nord’s laughter, Taurmillan grabbed him by the throat himself, tearing the dagger from the gruesome wound and he plunged it into Tolfdir’s chest. “You’ve already lost…” Blood poured from Tolfdir’s mouth and new wound, but he sounded triumphant in the face of his death. The High Elf trembled with a rage he had never felt before and his eyes were ablaze with fury. “Sovngarde awaits me, elf…Hell would be too kind for you…”  
  
When Tolfdir’s lifeless body slumped to the ground, the silence from the College’s mages was broken. Never in the entire history of the College, had such anguished cries of sorrow, rage and despair resounded through its walls.  
  
 _She loved him…_ The blood-stained dagger he had held clattered to the ground and he turned on his heel. His robes, coated in blood, billowed as he stormed out of the Midden. 

 

* * *

 

Rain violently clattered down on the Sleeping Giant Inn’s roof. Though Delphine had made sure to secure the shutters of the windows, the wind seemed intent to tear them from their hinges. It wasn’t the ruckus of the storm outside that made her jump to a start, however. She reached for the blade under her bed and she carefully crept to the door of her chambers. There was no doubt about it that if anything had snuck its way into the inn, it could perhaps hear the pounding of her heart and how she strained to contain her breathing to a calm.  
   
 _I know I heard footsteps…_ This definitely wasn’t a late wanderer, for they would often announce themselves. Nor would they linger…or had it been her imagination? She took a position near the wall to slowly and carefully open the door with the tip of her blade. Her eyes narrowed to adapt to the darkness and she peered into the tavern.   
  
Though nothing seemed out of the ordinary, save for the rhythmic rainfall on the roof and the shutters clattering against the wood, there was absolutely nothing. Her heart and mind didn’t share the sentiment, though.  
  
 _I’m getting_ way  _too paranoid._  
   
An irritated and frustrated growl escaped her lips. She was spooking herself like a child. She made her way to the bar and grabbed a bottle of mead, of which she didn’t even bother to pour the contents into a goblet like she always did, and drank straight from the bottle. Only now did she notice how her hand had gone white, bathed in cold sweat from cramping the handle of her sword so tightly.

It had been two days now, and ‘on edge’ was but an understatement in regards to how she had been feeling.  _There’s no way anyone saw me or know I was involved…_ She took a few deep breaths and stared at the bottle of mead she had almost emptied in one go.  _You’ve got this. He’ll come back. No one knew you were even there…  
  
_ She finished the bottle and when she felt calm enough and wasn’t shaking as badly anymore, she made her way back to her room. She had just made her way in when she caught the flurry of black and gold from the corner of her eye that struck her in the lower back, knocking the wind out of her lungs. Instinctively, she made to lash her blade at the assailant, but her body did not obey. She prepared to hit the ground, but the figure caught her.  
   
When she saw that he was a Thalmor, she made to scream, not only enraged he had caught her off-guard in such a cowardly way, but also terrified of what he may do to her. But her scream was muffled as he covered her mouth with a gloved hand and the Thalmor dragged her into her room, to her bed. Her eyes widened to alarm and she bit down on the High Elf’s gloved hand with all her strength. He howled and Delphine fell on the bed, hurting her ribs quite badly as she hit its wooden frame. Before she could even so much as scream for help, he’d grabbed her by the throat and shoved his glove in her mouth.   
  
“I’m not here to kill you!” the green-eyed Thalmor hissed. “Ganir sent me. The Dragonborn. So don’t scream when I remove this, understood?” Despite her disbelief, Delphine nodded and he indeed removed the glove from her mouth, which he cleaned with disgust. “Honestly, that you had me resort to that…” He swung his hand after inspecting whether she’d drawn blood or not. “He told me you’d be paranoid but not that you’d  _bite_  like some kind of savage.”  
  
“What would you do were you in my shoes, Thalmor?” Delphine spat. “You killed all of my friends…People I considered  _family_.”  
  
“I could say the same of your lot.” The High Elf’s voice and demeanor had calmed down, but the undertone of anger was audible. “Not to mention the innocent bystanders, or did that conveniently slip your mind. We’re all the same in your eyes, are we not?”  
   
Delphine and he stared each other down and the tension was most palpable. Delphine felt no remorse or pity for what she or her comrades had done. Sacrifices had to be made if it meant a setback for the Thalmor.   
  
“I’m assuming that since Ganir sent you, you’re Ondolemar of Markarth?” she finally asked.   
  
“Yes.” His response was curt. “The Dragonborn is on his way to the College with my…former associate to tend to a most urgent matter. For us, time is of the essence as well. The Thalmor have tracked down a certain Blade named Esbern.”  
  
“Esbern?!” Delphine would’ve shot up had she been able to. “Where is he?!”  
  
“He’s hiding away in the Ratway Vaults in Riften. If we are quick, we should be ahead of the Thalmor. We are to leave immediately.” With that, he dispelled the paralysis that had struck Delphine but she didn’t get up right away as her legs were tingling and she didn’t trust her feet yet…or the High Elf.  
  
“Why are you helping us?” She asked, slowly straightening up so she could sit on the bed.  
  
His eyes narrowed. “Do I look like I have time for your questions?” he spat. “We need to get going.  _NOW_.”  
  
Still stiff and sore, Delphine got up and made her way to the hidden cellar. There, she gathered her things while putting her armor and after leaving Orgnar a note, she made her way outside where the Thalmor waited for her. They rode off at full speed, leaving Riverwood behind them as they followed the roads to the South-East of Skyrim, to the city of Riften. For hours, the rain would beat down on them, chilling Delphine to the bone.  _Esbern. I can’t let them take Esbern!  
  
_ Ondolemar made a sharp turn at a crossroads and left the beaten path. She understood why, given that it was too risky to be seen because it no doubt would raise suspicion to see a Breton and a Thalmor race somewhere alongside one another. Whenever she felt like she couldn’t keep up any longer, she but had to think of how the Thalmor, Ancano, had looked when he was freed from the Embassy and she could only imagines what horrors awaited Esbern if she gave up now and pushed her mind and body’s limits until finally the skies cleared and they saw an estate situated on an island in the distance. They had avoided all the roads as best they could to avoid being seen, but few travelers wandered the roads nowadays, even when they passed a wood mill west of the estate on the island.  
   
Her sides stung and her legs burned, but finally, she caught up with Ondolemar, whose brow was coated in sweat. Their horses’ nostrils were wide and steam emanated from their sweat-bathed bodies, grateful that their riders had finally slowed to a walking pace.   
  
“Look, I’ve got to ask. What is  _so_ important that the Dragonborn would entrust someone like you to retrieve Esbern with me?” Delphine asked once she’d caught her breath. “No offense…”  
  
“Because he felt no inclination to help you personally but knew that this Esbern was of importance at the same time. Consider it a favor.” Ondolemar replied without looking at her. “He wasn’t too pleased you abandoned him.”  
  
Delphine groaned. “I  _had_  too! What if we got caught?!”  
  
Ondolemar stared straight ahead of him, the expression in his eyes hardening. “I have no desire to discuss this with the likes of you.”  
  
Aside from saving Ancano’s life, Ondolemar found that after contemplating the matter, that the whole concept of a Dunmer Dragonborn seemed rather preposterous, but most foreboding and it very much shook his firm beliefs that no other race could hold or achieve such power akin to a god. But this development was too important and prominent to ignore if it had already caused such a string of events. The Eye of Magnus had been unearthed to be hidden by the Psijic. Dragons had reappeared and even the Thalmor did not know how, nor had they qualms about torturing one of their own for information on what was beyond their grasp and control. As maverick and unconventional as Ancano was, Ondolemar held a deep respect for him and considered him not only brilliant by Altmer standards, but also a friend. Had it been any other associate amongst his ranks, Ondolemar knew that he wouldn’t have been as open minded to the matter. Ancano could perhaps be cold, calculating and aloof, but he definitely knew what he was doing.

They closed in on Riften, which had once been a great city; a hub of commerce where Morrowind and Cyrodiil trade flourished until a Jarl angered its inhabitants because of his corruption and greed. A bloody revolt had nearly burned Riften the ground, but over the years its people had rebuilt, but the city was never restored to its former glory. Ondolemar eyed the city’s wall and its guard with a scrunched up nose. “This place doesn’t just look it, but it reeks of a cesspool for crime and Auri-El knows for all kinds of scum.”

“All the more perfect of a place for Esbern to hide,” Delphine said, though she shared his sentiment. “That is, if the dossiers are correct.”  
  
Delphine pulled her hood up to further obscure her face from the guards whose distrust and hate was palpable when they saw that she was accompanied by a Thalmor and they crossed their halberds immediately. “Halt. The city is closed.”  
  
“I doubt that,” Ondolemar narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “And you should know better than to get in my way. I am here on matters of great political importance with the city’s ruling body for the Thalmor.”  
   
“Right, and I’m Jarl Elisif the Fair,” The guard sneered, his eyes hidden below the chain and iron coif he wore. “As if the Jarl would want to have anything to do with the likes of you,  _Elf._ ” _  
_  
“Yeah, you heard ‘im. Get outta here knife-ears. Your lot isn’t welcome here,” The other guard chimed in, pointing his halberd at the odd pair.  
  
Ondolemar glared at them both. “And what makes you imbeciles think I refer to the Jarl. I’m talking about Maven Black-Briar, who will most certainly be displeased if she found out about this incident…”  
  
The guards exchanged insecure glances with one another. Whether they were informed of this or not, no one was foolish enough to risk Maven Black-Briar’s wrath by crossing her. She was the true, ruling body of Riften from behind the scenes, for she was connected with both the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood; two organizations you didn’t want to trifle with…  
   
“We were just testing to make sure you weren’t some imposter,” The guard laughed nervously as he stepped aside. “Bad for business if you were, eh?”  
  
“Yeah, bad for business.” The other quickly chimed and unlocked the gate. “Get on right in.”  
  
The bluff had been most unconventional, and Delphine didn’t believe it actually worked, but the gates were opened for them and they made their way in.  _Now all that remains is finding you in the Ratway Vaults, Esbern…We’re coming, buddy._    
  


 

* * *

 

 

  
“-As in accordance with the accusations you have been proven guilty of, you, Lord Anciel Valanocke, are hereby sentenced to death, to be executed immediately.”  
  
Falintaor visibly paled and his whole body tensed, but he remained standing tall and proud. His wife, Ciryamenwe fell back into the seat as if struck by an unseen force. Anciel, on the other hand, while visibly shaken to the core, stood tall with his chin held high. Cirilonde shook her head in disbelief, but before she could even so much as make a sound, her father had pulled her against him so her sobs would be stifled. Her hand held and squeezed that of her mother.  
   
“This wasn’t his fault!” She choked out. But Falintaor pushed her away, forcing her to watch Anciel be taken away down the aisle outside. She so desperately wanted to reach for him, to hold her brother a final time, but as he walked by, guided by two guards, she saw the thousand-yard stare in her brother’s eyes and he walked straight past them.  
   
Rather than a swift execution, the Thalmor’s Death Watch were set to make an example out of him and began to torture him for all to see. She cried for mercy until her voice went hoarse and fought against the guards who tried to push her back. “Anciel! Anciel can you hear your sister?! I love you!” She cried and saw that while he had heard her, he could no longer see her. Blood poured from the sockets where his eyes had been.   
  
She had been so distraught that she had not noticed that the crowd behind her had parted for Taurmillan, who grabbed hold of Cirilonde and tore her away from the horrible scene and pulled her against him.   
  
Her eyes went wide, terrified that she had perhaps displeased the son of a Lord Exarch and made to fall to her knees when he pulled her right back to her feet. “Please, Lord Highal!” Her gaze met with his, pleading. “Surely there’s something you can do, Lord Commander! This wasn’t my brother’s fault!”  
   
Taurmillan had glanced to the gruesome proceedings of the execution, clearly disgusted. Yet, he did not flinched as Anciel let out the most primal, terrible howl of pain she had ever heard as his arm was torn from his body. The Lord Commander grabbed hold of Cirilonde and turned her away in an attempt to shield her from having to witness this, but it was too late. She had already seen and heard  too much. “I beg of you Lord Highal! I’ll do anything!” She buried her face against his chest.  
  
She had not seen the flicker in his eyes as he held her tighter against him and inhaled her scent. His whole body thrived on feeling her so close against him and so…vulnerable. “I wish I could, Milady Valanocke, but this is even beyond my powers.” He cupped her cheek and stroked it with his thumb. “Your father has already requested the aid of mine.”  
  
His other hand stroked her back before his fingers ran through her hair. Anciel’s tormented and anguished howls were almost drowned out by the cheers and cries of support and horror. Cirilonde clung to Taurmillan, who met eyes with Lord Valanocke over the distance. Falintaor had worried for where his daughter so suddenly disappeared too. His jaw clenched and his heart tightened when he saw that the young Lord Highal held his grieving daughter.  _Even honor comes with a price, my good man…_ Taurmillan smirked at Falintaor as he kissed the top of Cirilonde’s head.  
  
Ciryamenwe saw nothing of the interaction. She stood frozen and proud, tears streaming down her face as she beheld the blood-stained execution platform and the trail the horses had left behind as they dragged her broken, beaten and dying son away. He would be lucky to die before the horses were found exhausted and his body torn apart by the wolves.  
   
“I beg your forgiveness, my Lord,” Cirilonde made to pull away from Taurmillan, but he held her in place. His gloved hands swept the tears away and he shushed her with the soft purr of his voice.  
   
“Come what may come, my Cirilonde, I will see what I can do for your family…”  
  
  
Cirilonde had woken up in the Arch-Mage’s tower and after the most painful of all her memories resurfaced, she felt even more nauseous. She had no idea what they had done to the Augur and if Tolfdir was all right or not, but she feared the worst.  Just what was driving Taurmillan to commit these atrocities, thinking the ends would justify the means? This was no conquest! He was leaving nothing but a trail of death and destruction in his wake.  
  
 _I have to stop him!_  She tried to get up, but her vision and mind still was blurry and her body wasn’t very willing to cooperate. No doubt, she was still under the influence and the after effects of the spell she had been struck by. She leaned against the wall for support as she made her way to the door to see if she could perhaps get out or find some other means of escape, but she shielded herself with her arms when the door to the Arch-Mage’s quarters were blown to smithereens by a gust of white-hot flames. The two guards that had been posted at the door were flung against the wall by the impact of the blow and slumped to the floor. She had no idea whether they were alive of dead, but for their sake, hoped for the latter.  
  
She squinted her eyes and waited for the smoke to clear and she froze in disbelief, shaking her head when she saw it had not been Taurmillan, like she dreaded. “Ancano…” The flames that had engulfed his arms immediately dissipated and he hurried over to her, frowning when she shook her head and backed away from him. “This can’t be true…” she began to choke up, overwhelmed by her emotions. “Taurmillan said…”   
  
He grabbed hold of her hands and shushed her, lovingly caressing her face. “It’s all right, the fool left me to die…I’m here now…”  
  
He was completely taken by surprise, his eyes widening before closing when she kissed him. He didn’t let her pull away and held her against him, pushing his tongue into her mouth. She moaned and held on to him, for the chains that bound her hands together didn’t permit her the freedom to run her fingers through his hair or stroke his face. She felt as though she was floating in a dream, her mind a blissful haze and it was clear she was as reluctant as he to pull away from the kiss, which left the both of them out of breath. There was a most odd flicker in his eyes she had never seen before when she stroked his face. “I never thought I’d see you again…” Her mind then seemed to gather itself. “Taurmillan! We need to get out of here before he finds out, I-,”  
  
He placed a thumb on her lips to shush her, holding her other hand against his chest. “Not to worry, my dear.” In the distance, she could hear the cries and clash of battle between the Thalmor and the College’s Mages and Ganir. “No need to worry for him. He’s quite occupied for the time being, as you can no doubt tell. Where is the Staff?”  
   
“We need to get into the labyrinth. I hid it there,” she said. “We need but to follow the trail of flowers-!”  
  
She had made to walk past him to get out of the Arch-Mage’s tower, but he jerked her back and she was initially confused before her eyes widened with the dreadful realization that as the world around her seemed to shift back to reality and she hadn’t kissed Ancano, but Taurmillan, whose eyes had thinned to slits and shoved her against the wall.   
  
“Sylva!” He bellowed. The Wood Elf was reluctant to adhere to her Master’s summons, shaking in her boots for she had never seen him lose his composure like this. “You and Thorelas are to go into the Midden and find the Staff, following a trail of flowers my betrothed seems to have left…” He glared at Cirilonde again. “Bring the Staff to me. At once.”  
  
“Y-Yes my Lord Exarch!” Sylva scurried off to obey her Master’s orders.  
  
“As for you…” Cirilonde winced, readying herself for whatever he may do but then saw that his robes were stained with blood. “Your Arch-Mage seemed rather triumphant to share how you felt about that lowborn filth. But not once have you ever touched me like you just have, thinking it was he…”  
  
“What did you do to Tolfdir?!” Her voice shook.  
  
“Dead. Like your  _precious_ Ancano,” he said icily. “And pray to the Divines my rage has subsided once I am through with your friends and have the Staff because I do not take kindly to your betrayal.”  
  
“No! Leave them out of it!” Black dots danced before her eyes when he backhanded her so hard she was thrown to the floor, only to be lifted by a pair of invisible, razor-sharp talons that held her in a chokehold. “You heartless murderer, I will  _never_  love you!”  
  
The hands tightened their hold and her breath came in squeaks as she gulped for air and soon went limp, having passed out from the lack of oxygen. Taurmillan froze and his rage subsided. Had he…? No, she was still breathing… He made to go to her but when his keen ears picked up on the cries of alarm, he raised a fiery ward to surround his betrothed and made his way down the steps to see what in the blazing plains of Oblivion was going on.  
  


__  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Tolfdir...I'm not even lying, this was -hard- to write!
> 
> Please let me know what you thought and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.


	18. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He closed his eyes not only to focus, but as he felt her strong, magical influence resonate from the ward, he was overwhelmed with the realization that he indeed harbored strong feelings for her. I won’t let him take you…

**Chapter 17**  


 

* * *

 

From the grassy plains and high bluffs, marked by jagged rock formations, Ancano and Ganir parted ways from Ondolemar just before they reached Rorikstead and headed North to ride past Morthal, making their way through the mist-veiled, reeking and dark swamps that surrounded the area before they finally made their way into the tundra of the Pale. Not a word was spoken between the two who both had their minds set on winning the race against time. Maybe they would be too late to reach the College because Divines knew what this Lord Exarch was capable of or intended to do, but they had to get there as long as there was that glimmer of uncertain hope.

They finally made it to the region of Winterhold, but rather than get anywhere near the city or its College, they stopped to seek refuge from the fierce elements in Saarthal, which had been abandoned since the Eye’s unearthing. Ancano was reluctant to enter, but he and their horses had to rest lest they collapse from exhaustion.  
   
Steam emanated from the horses’ coats, bathed in sweat and reeking of that and the rank drab on their legs from Morthal’s swamps. Ancano wasn’t too pleased to be left to eat and rest while Ganir left to gauge the situation in Winterhold and do a perimeter check, but once the warmth of the fire greeted him, the High Elf realized he was in dire need of food and rest.  
   
Once alone, Ancano’s mind caught up with him and he found himself staring into the dancing flames while he ate and drank. He had refused to answer Ondolemar, who had noticed that his friend’s manner of silence was a show of conflict and anger that he did not wish to discuss. Aside from not being the Mer to speak of his feelings as brazenly like the common man, Ancano didn’t have an answer either…yet.  
   
Ancano knew that Taurmillan was only aware of the existence of _an_ artefact at the College, but no doubt, he would pressure and torture the College’s inhabitants and Cirilonde in disclosing its nature and location. Though Ancano would never openly state such a thing, he valued the lives of the College’s staff and students, as incompetent and insufferable some of them were and could be. While Cirilonde would never tell a living soul about the Staff or its existence, Ancano feared what the Lord Exarch was capable of and that she would be taken away from him.  
   
_Just what in the blazing plains of Oblivion is taking that damn vampire so long?!_

The Dark Elf had been away for nearly two hours now and while patient, his train of thoughts left Ancano restless, pacing back and forth around the fire. The horses watched him as if amused by the Elf’s odd behavior, but also curious. Their breath was hot but had calmed to a steady rhythm, grateful for the moment of respite.  
  
Ancano had to admit, despite everything that happened, he felt that now he and Ganir shared a common goal, their disposition had formed into one of mutual respect and understanding and it was saying something that he trusted the Dark Elf. They would never be the best of friends, but time would tell how things would be once all this was over…If they survived.  
  
Hours later, the cold wind from outside swept into the barrow, causing the High Elf to shoot up and douse the flames that had warmed him. No doubt, it was Ganir, but Ancano had no intention of risking it. Even the horses remained silent as they peered into the darkness where a familiar, red-eyed shadow soon appeared.  Ancano exhaled  to conceal the relief he felt. “Well?” he asked.  
  
“The Jarl’s hands are tried, but from what he told me and what I’ve seen myself, the College has definitely been besieged. The fact that the Thalmor are still there and they seem to be looking for something leaves room to safely assume they haven’t found the Staff yet,” Ganir replied. He unfolded a parchment with an exterior map of the College and he pointed at the dots he had drawn on the College’s walkway around its battlements. “The arrows indicate which way they face and what direction they patrol. At all times, they’re positioned and patrol in such a fashion I can’t take them out one by one without raising the alarm. The labyrinth’s real exit, however, hasn’t been compromised. We have to make our way in and see what’s going on after we got the Staff.”  
  
“We best hurry then,” Ancano said and they left the barrow on horseback to ride north to the coast. They then headed east towards the College that loomed over them like a dark, foreboding shadow on top of the precarious rock formation where it was located. “Make no mistake that we can’t afford to get caught under any circumstances, even if that means you have to leave me behind. They can’t get the Staff.”  
   
“Like I would let it come to that. As long as we’re cautious, we should be fine,” Ganir said. “Just try to not blow anything up.”  
   
“Says the one who blew Elenwen’s solar up,” Ancano snorted, but nevertheless entertained as he could imagine the look on the First Emissary’s face.  
  
When Ganir halted his horse and pointed up, Ancano saw that hidden in the snow-covered slope of the black, crooked rock face, there was a well-hidden cavern entrance that led into the labyrinth.  
  
“Have you any idea where the Staff is hidden?” Ancano asked. “And do you even know the way?”  
  
“Obviously,” Ganir said as he dismounted. “As for the staff, not precisely, but Cirilonde mentioned flowers to me at the time, so I suppose we have  to be on the lookout for those.” The two elves climbed up towards the opening and peered inside. They both squinted their eyes to adjust to the bright, reflective ice. Like a whisper, he could sense the Staff reach for him and his mind flashed to the Eye’s hold on him. He tensed when Ganir laid his hand on his shoulder. “We’ll get Ciri out of there.”  
   
“It’s not a matter of trust,” Ancano’s eyes narrowed as he peered into the labyrinth again. He really didn’t like the heavier, colder sensation that emanated from the place. “It could be a trap…I just have a bad feeling about it.” _  
_    
Ganir shrugged. While he shared the sentiment, he needed to stay level-headed. The fire in the High Elf’s eyes hadn’t once wavered and though Ancano perhaps wouldn’t ever voice it, Ganir knew that they both were driven to safe the College and its students, but their concerns were mainly focused on Cirilonde, who was the most likely to be in danger. “If it’s any reassurance, they’re not expecting us. As long as we don’t lower our guard, we should be fine.”  
  
Ancano opened the palm of his hand and released a small, blue flame to hover over them as they made their way in. Ganir followed him, holding his right hand to the wall to help him focus as to where they were headed as the whole passage was frozen over, making easy for one’s sense of direction to be thrown off.  
“Just how exactly did you even manage to find this?” Ancano asked him, glancing at the Dark Elf over his shoulder.  
  
“Boredom,” Ganir shrugged. “I don’t exactly need sleep, so I’d wander during the night and-,” He grabbed Ancano by the shoulder and pulled him back. The High Elf didn’t even need to ask why because the Dark Elf knelt down and pushed the tip of his dagger into the snow, lifting a thin cord. “And it’s quite exciting practice once you find out it’s booby-trapped.”  
  
Ganir lift the cord up further and revealed a trigger mechanism connected to holes in the wall which no doubt would shoot forth something potentially lethal. Ancano cringed at the thought because as keen as his senses were, he never would have noticed this.  
   
The Dark Elf then cut the string to disarm the trap. “Aside from these, I’ll need you to take care of the magical traps. They’re all over the place. Saves that I took care of the couple of trolls a few weeks ago.”  
   
They continued their way down the frozen corridors, which led to a small, round area where five passages led to Divines knew where. Aside from Ganir knowing the way, Ancano could feel that the humming sensation of the Staff had grown stronger from where they were headed, making his skin crawl.  
   
“I’m sensing Cirilonde’s wards,” Ancano said, not wanting to admit the unease that gnawed at him. “We’re getting closer.”  
  
Ganir only nodded and they took the passage to the right when the corridors split after a few yards as the others led deeper into the labyrinth or to the Midden. The tunnel they had ventured into wasn’t as straight, twisting from the left to the right and the two elves had to be careful not to slip.  
Despite his caution, Ganir fell face-first to the floor when he tripped over something. He stopped swearing and furrowed his brow to kneel down at the odd-shaped bump in the ice. He swept the snow away and raised the crystal-clear ball of ice and looked at the blue mountain flower that had been frozen within.  
   
Ancano took it in his hand. It was beautiful and subtle. “This is definitely Cirilonde’s work,” he said, but then followed Ganir’s predatory gaze down the corridor from where they had come. Ancano’s mind shot to alarm as well. He hadn’t seen something himself, but he had definitely sensed something.  
   
For a moment, they remained standing, but all Ancano heard was the rapid pounding of his heart and all he saw were the puffs of hot breath that escaped his thin lips. Ganir’s lips barely moved when he spoke, “You go on ahead and get the staff. I’ll watch your back…I don’t trust this.”  
  
Ancano shared the sentiment and though he dreaded to continue on his own, something was aware of their presence and they had to hurry. The trail of frozen flowers that Cirilonde had left guided him, and offered him a strange sort of comfort as though she was with him. He found himself thinking of and worrying for her as he wound down the corridor which led to a large room with a hollow ceiling. All of his muscles tensed when he saw the Staff of Magnus, which was frozen into the wall, surrounded by a magical ward that held a golden glow. _As always, you never cease to amaze me…  
_  
His fingers were but a hair’s thickness away from the ward and as he incanted. Disarming a ward was much like picking a lock where one would have to rely on one’s sense of feeling while tampering with the tumblers. He closed his eyes not only to focus, but as he felt her strong, magical influence resonate from the ward, he was overwhelmed with the realization that he indeed harbored strong feelings for her. _I won’t let him take you…_ It took him quite a while, but once he recognized the ward’s pattern and its workings, he dispelled the ward and its glow faded and the ice melted away.  
   
It was as if the central focusing crystal of the bone-carved staff stared back at him, welcoming him in a mocking fashion of sorts, but before Ancano could wrap his fingers around the staff, he heard Ganir’s cry in the distance as he ran over. “Ancano! They’re coming!”  
   
He had been mid-incantation when two, Thalmor battle-mages charged at him once their invisibility spell had been detected by the other High Elf. Gouts of white-hot flame shot forth from their hands and melted the ice away. Ancano raised a ward in time and while he didn’t get hurt, the flames were searing hot. Gritting his teeth, he focused on maintaining his ward while reaching for the Staff but howled in pain when a dagger pinned his hand to the wall.  
  
The swift, green-eyed shadow that jumped from behind the two Thalmor had been the culprit and before Ancano could retaliate with a spell, the Wood Elf assassin lunged forward with an unnatural speed. She grabbed his hand and twisted it, slamming her knee into his stomach, causing him to double over and knock the wind out of his lungs.  
  
“Thanks for taking care of that pesky little ward for me.” The Wood Elf’s grin was feline-like, her eyes glittering as she grabbed hold of the staff. “My Master thanks you!” She shouted at him over her shoulder as she stormed off.

Ancano ducked for cover behind his ward that he instinctively raised when the Thalmor battle-mages attacked him again. One on one, a Thalmor battle-mage was no match for Ancano, but as powerful as he was, Ancano had to maintain a ward with one arm as the other was still pinned to the wall. The heat was unbearable and sweat coated his brow in no time as he struggled to hold the ward up.  
   
_Can’t hold it…much…longer._ He grit his teeth, trying to think of a plan, but Ganir came to his rescue. The Dark Elf came bolting down the corridor and though it was hard to see due the blinding brightness of the flames, Ancano heard the rumble emanate from the Dark Elf’s chest when he took a sharp breath, which was all the warning he needed to tear the dagger from his hand and leap out of the way.

“FUS RO DAH!” Ganir bellowed, sending the battle-mages flying against the wall from the Shout’s power. Ancano wasted no time and buried the dagger that had impaled his hand in the throat of one of the Thalmor before they could recover. Ganir took care of the other Thalmor Battle-Mage in the same fashion.  
  
“You fool!” Ancano bellowed. “That damn Wood Elf has the staff!”  
  
“You can die another time if you insist but I kind of need you alive!” Ganir snapped at Ancano as they ran after the Wood Elf. “We’ll catch up with her. Come on!”

“She’s not a normal elf,” Ancano said to Ganir. “She was fast…Incredibly fast. We can’t have her raise the alarm or take the Staff to her ‘master’.”  
  
Ganir nodded in agreement and ran ahead of Ancano, who healed the wound his hand had sustained. It wasn’t long before he heard the rapid pitter-patter of the Wood Elf’s boots and Ancano flung a ball of fire in her direction. “Get back here, you little rat!” he snarled.  
  
“Are you trying to collapse the tunnels on us, you fool?!” Ganir exclaimed.   
  
Not only had the Wood Elf easily dodged the ball of flame, but she clearly knew where to go as well. The layer of ice that coated the walls grew thinner and soon, they could see the familiar dark stone of the Midden’s walls again. “Raise the alarm!” The Wood Elf barked her orders in the Altmer tongue. “Intruders!”  
  
The Thalmor soldiers that had been posted nearby, immediately sprang to attention, but Ganir rammed into them. “GO GET HER!” Ganir bellowed at Ancano, who made to chase after the Wood Elf. He had barely made it into the next hallway when a group of eight, Thalmor Soldiers came running towards him and while he bought some time by slinging a fireball at them, he had to retreat.  
  
“We have a problem!” Ancano dove for cover in a nearby passage as a barrage of bolts and arrows came flying from the corridor he’d intended to head down. Ganir’s eyes widened and he used the Thalmor soldier he’d been fighting as a meat shield. The Thalmor shrieked in horror as he heard the whistle of his impending death that impaled him in a matter of seconds, killing him instantly.  
   
_Cruel…but efficient…_ Ganir thought with a sadistic grin as he dropped the Thalmor to the ground. _Now to get out of this mess, though…_ His eyes shot from Ancano to the left and right. They couldn’t run back and the other passages were no options as the Thalmor came running from all directions. They were surrounded.  
   
The two elves stood at each other’s side, one with his daggers at the ready while the other was prepared to unleash whatever barrage of spells he had at his disposition to defend himself.  
   
“A shout would be useful about now…” Ancano grit out through his teeth as they backed down together.  
  
“Just…give me …a moment,” Ganir panted.  
  
“In the name of Lord Exarch Highal, surrender now and we might let you live!” One of the soldiers yelled, but they kept a safe distance from the two elves. It was quite clear these two weren’t going to go without a fight.  
  
“GET THEM. NOW!” The Thalmor soldiers spun around, completely taken by surprise when Faralda, accompanied by the College mages, attacked them from behind. They were accompanied by whatever (lesser) Daedra they were able to summon and now that their formation had been compromised, the Thalmor were overwhelmed from behind and the two Elves they had hoped to apprehend.  
  
Faralda buried an elven dagger in a soldier’s back before burning his face to ash. She went wide-eyed when Ancano shot an ice-spike to her, but it was buried into the chest of the soldier who came charging at her from behind. “You were the last we expected to see here!” Faralda exclaimed.  
  
Ancano caught the shimmer of an Elven blade to his right and he had not only stepped back in time, raising a ward, but it gave Ganir the opportunity to ram into the Thalmor soldier in question and tear his throat out with his teeth. “Get going Ancano, we’ll hold them off!”  
   
_Well, so much for the pleasantries of catching up…_ Ancano briefly raised a brow as he needn’t be told to begin with and ran down the corridor where the Wood Elf had gone. A soldier saw this and made to slash at him with his blade, but Ancano ducked under his arm and grabbed hold of the hilt, twisting it so he could slit the soldier’s throat with his own blade before Ancano took it with him.  
   
His heart was racing and the rush of blood made his ears pound. Adrenaline surged through his veins as he ran as fast as he ever had. _I can’t let her get away!_ When he saw the Wood Elf, he lunged a ball of flame at her but she just rounded the corner and he missed. “Get back here, you filthy little-!”  
  
Thankfully, his instincts and training didn’t desert him, for when he rounded the corner with a raised ward, a dagger she had thrown ricocheted off and clattered to the floor after hitting the wall. She slung the Staff over her back and grabbed hold of the ladder before jumping up through the hole in one go and she was out of sight. To make sure she wouldn’t ambush him, Ancano shot a gout of flame upwards before he used a spell to leap up into the Hall of Countenance in one go.  
   
Sylva had shrieked when the fire shot up from the hole and she scrambled for the door because she hadn’t expected him to catch up in the first place an her priorities lay with returning the Staff to her Master rather than kill this traitor, which she no doubt would get a chance for later.  
   
She kicked the door open and ran out into the courtyard, but she didn’t get far. Ancano hit her in the back with a spell of shock, which left her stunned and face down in the snow. “Now I have you, you little wretch!” Ancano snarled as he paced forward, chest heaving up and down as he was out of breath.  
  
She rolled over on her back and lashed out with her dagger, but Ancano parried the blow with the sword he’d taken earlier. The Wood-Elf jumped to her feet and shadow-stepped him by initially pretending to attack him, but then ran away from him instead. Ancano pulled his lip in a snarl, annoyed he’d fallen for it and chased after her again once more and rammed her to the ground with his full weight. In the momentum of their shared fall, the Staff of Magnus came loose from the straps that bound it to the Wood Elf’s back and was sent flying a few yards before it landed in the snow.  
  
“I’ve had enough of you!” Sylva snarled, punching him. “I’m going to gut you like that fucking Arch-Mage of yours!”  
  
Ancano stumbled back with his hand holding his jaw, briefly dazed, but he raised his blade to parry and riposte the Wood Elf’s blows. “What did you do to the Arch-Mage?” He hissed when their blades met in a lock.  
  
“I stabbed him, wriggled this little blade in his back. My Master took care of the filthy heretic.” The Wood Elf boasted, grinning when her opponent clearly grew enraged.  
  
“Let’s see to it that you share his fate!” Ancano snarled and he forced her to take on a defensive stance while he took on the offensive against her with sword and spell. While he was no master of steel, the High Elf was fueled by the rage over Tolfdir’s senseless death and now even more determined to settle a score not only with her, but get hold of the Staff and take Taurmillan down. Whenever he made to dive for the Staff, however, the Wood Elf got in his way and he was forced to defend himself and back off, but the same went for the Wood Elf.  
  
Suddenly, the doors to the Hall of Elements were flung open and a group of at least twenty Thalmor soldiers and battle-mages charged forward in formation. The Battle-Mages held their wards up while the soldiers armed their bows, arrows and crossbows. Behind them, in the middle stood the Lord Exarch with a General at his side, who gave a wordless order to fire. Ancano dove for cover behind the stone wall of the courtyard’s central font when the barrage of bolts and arrows were fired and he held a ward up just in case while he lay there in the cold snow.  
  
He heard the moonstone arrowheads bury themselves in the ground and how they whistled overhead by just a few, ricocheting off his ward or break when colliding with the stone.  
  
When he peered over the edge, Ancano saw that Taurmillan stepped forward. His eyes then locked on Sylva’s and they both charged forward to grab the Staff. Though he knew his ward would be weakened, he unleashed the most powerful blast of telekinetic energy he could muster that knocked the Wood Elf back, buying him he time to then grab hold of the Staff. He had been just in time, for the Lord Exarch had raised his hand to summon it to his grasp, using telekinesis as well.  
  
The moment Ancano’s fingers wrapped around the bone-carved staff, his ward grew stronger by a tenfold and he clenched it tightly, fearing for his life if he lost a hold of it.  
  
“Surround that treacherous hound. Protect your Lord Exarch!” The General bellowed, but his men had already done so. Ancano spun on his heel when he heard the rapid crunching of snow under the weight of boots behind him and saw the Wood Elf run for him with a raised dagger. She jumped at him like a feline, but he side-stepped her and hit her square under the jaw with the Staff. This error nearly cost him, for Taurmillan immediately used Ancano’s distraction to his advantage, trying to tear the Staff from Ancano’s grasp once more with telekinesis. When he was sure the Wood Elf was actually knocked out, the lone High Elf turned to face the Lord Exarch, raising his ward while their invisible tug of war continued.  
   
The Thalmor soldiers circled around them from a safe distance like a pack of hungry wolves and Ancano was sure the rapid beating of his heart was most audible. He grit his teeth and dug the heels of his boots into the ground as the intensity of the two magical forces made the Staff of Magnus crackle with the familiar teal energy. It initially didn’t hurt him, but as both High Elves strained their abilities to the fullest of their extent, the Staff was pressured and released a wave of whirling energy that blasted the snow and ice away in a twenty foot radius. Ancano was forced to his knees from the impact, drained and out of breath, but whatever had happened, the Staff of Magnus had protected him.  
   
While he maintained his composure, the Lord Exarch certainly hadn’t expected this to happen. He glared the lowborn, defiant High Elf down, who desperately clutched the Staff of Magnus in his hands. “We meet again, Ancano,” said the Lord Exarch haughtily. “I must say, I did not expect you to return…”  
  
“I had unfinished business. Not that it is of your concern...” Ancano could feel the thick, intense aura of powerful magic surround  the Lord Exarch. Had he not held the Staff of Magnus, he would have been dead for certain. “Where is Cirilonde?”  
  
Anger flashed in Taurmillan’s eyes and he pursed his lips in a thin line. “My betrothed’s well-being and whereabouts are none of your concern,” he snapped. “The Staff of Magnus and this situation you found yourself in, however, are.”  
  
Ancano’s eyes shot from the left to the right as he watched the soldiers surrounded him once more, but this time with more caution and with questioning looks painted on their faces. Why would one of their own rebel against the Thalmor and the Dominion?  
  
“If you surrender the Staff of Magnus to me now, Ancano, I could perhaps overlook your past transgressions,” Taurmillan said, reaching his hand out. “Don’t be a fool. You’ve served the Thalmor and the Dominion for nearly a century. Why throw this away for these pathetic and weak mortals? I could reinstate you to your previous rank amongst the Thalmor, perhaps even promote you to Justiciar unless you wish to retire peacefully and go home to Alinor.”  
  
“Transgressions? You violated the White-Gold Concordat by marching your men here and _killed_ our Arch-Mage and now you ask me to turn a blind eye to the fate that awaits the College by handing the Staff over to you on the vague promise my rank and honor be restored?” Ancano’s blood began to boil as he clenched the staff tighter. Tolfdir was an insufferable and stubborn old Nord most of the time, but he had been a gentle, patient man. “And how long before you reconsider and either kill me or have me killed anyway?” Nothing in his entire life had been more humiliating to Ancano when Elenwen tore his robes apart with her dagger and stripped him off them and his rank before he was chained and locked away. The Thalmor had been everything for him as he’d served them with pride and while he longed to return home and wanted nothing more to return to those better days, he refused to do so over the dead bodies of the innocent. There was no honor in that. 

“That’s hardly the case,” Taurmillan’s smile was insincere and cold. “You would but serve the Dominion’s interests to maintain the order and supremacy over the lesser races.”  
  
“By committing blatant _genocide_?!” Ancano exclaimed, disgusted and enraged. “Where is Cirilonde?! She would _never_ stand for this!”  
  
“She doesn’t have a say in the matter. She’s my bride to be, not a Thalmor,” Taurmillan unsheathed his blade in a fluent and graceful motion. “Now, I ask you for the last time. Surrender the Staff of Magnus to me so you may be spared, or die.”  
  
Ancano grit his teeth and took a step back. “If I am to die, then I’ll gladly take you down with me!” Ancano hurled a ball of flame towards Taurmillan before he lowered himself to the ground and thrust the pointy end of the Staff through the throat of the Thalmor soldier that made to attack him from behind. Now that the formation had a hole in it, Ancano managed to break away, but he wasn’t sure if it was for the better or not because he was forced to run from the battle-mages and defend himself against the barrage of spells they unleashed on him. The soldiers stayed behind to protect their Lord Exarch, who stood unmoving and closely observed the Staff’s power that flawlessly absorbed all of the magic. _Where is that bloody vampire when you need him?!_ He thought with a growl. While the Staff did most of the work, it wore down on him fast as the impact of the spells grew stronger and heavier to handle and they drove him into a corner.  
_  
_ “NOW!” Ganir bellowed. The Thalmor had been so focused on obtaining the Staff of Magnus and apprehend the lone traitor that they seemed to have forgotten about the possibility that Ancano hadn’t been alone and that the College mages had been freed. The Mages who were able too, had cloaked their presence with invisibility spells and barraged the Thalmor from the battlements above while the others summoned their familiars and Daedra to charge forward from the Hall of Countenance and Attainment. The newer and less capable students and some of the staff stayed behind there to provide back-up fire.  
  
Taurmillan bared his teeth in an enraged snarl. “Kill them! All of them!” He bellowed, summoning two Dremora to protect him.  
  
Ancano spun around, his hand ablaze when he heard the snow crush under the weight of whoever was behind him. “I’ll have your head, traitor!” Sylva snarled, but Ganir stepped in, or shouted, rather.  
  
“Fus!” He roared, before kicking the Wood Elf in the chest. “Go after him! Ciri is in the tower!”  
  
Ancano didn’t hesitate for a moment and made his way across the courtyard where all hell had broken loose. Urag had gone berserk in rage when he swa what fate had befallen his precious books. Brelyna, Onmund and J’Zhargo were a powerful force to be reckoned with as they faced off against a battlemage. Faralda was a deadly force in her own right as the powerful lightning burst forth from her fingertips and disintegrated a Thalmor, before she engulfed two soldiers in flames.  
  
Ancano summoned two atronachs to protect him while making his way across. Thanks to the Staff, they were far more powerful and lasted longer than any he could’ve conjured without it. He made it to the Hall of Elements, where Taurmillan had not retreated out of cowardice, but to deal with Ancano personally. _I solemnly swear by Auri-El if I get my hands on you…  
_  
Ancano’s footsteps echoed through the building as he entered and found the Lord Exarch in the central room, alone and clearly waiting for him. All of his men were fighting the College’s magi outside. “I would commend your bravery, had you been a worthy opponent, but a lowborn piece of filth such as yourself is no match for a superior Mer of my standing and bloodline,” Taurmillan spoke in a calm, condescending tone, but Ancano watched him closely nevertheless, expecting him to attack any moment. “You sealed your fate the moment you embarked on this fool’s errand of yours. What could you possibly even hope  to achieve by all this? That Staff will be mine. Cirilonde is _mine_!”  
  
Taurmillan emphasized his last sentence by sending a most powerful and bright bolt of lightning charging for Ancano, who raised the Staff of Magnus to defend him, but rather than a ward, the Staff absorbed its very energy. The impact of it made Ancano stumble back but he regained his footing quickly.

Blood and adrenaline surged through his veins and his body thrived on both the fear and in face of the challenge that lay ahead of him, for he was about to fight one of the most powerful Mer of the Dominion. But Taurmillan had to be stopped, even if the attempt would cost him his life.

“The opinion of a soon to-be dead man is of little consequence to me.” Ancano readied himself and he glared back at the Lord Exarch. “But I will make sure that you will pay for what you’ve done.”  
  
   


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today I learned I am no champ in writing long chase and combat scenes out. All in due time, however. Practice makes perfect.  
> I'm sorry if I kept some of you waiting!
> 
> Please let me know what you think of it and if you liked it. It's always appreciated.


	19. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Brelyna saw the fellow Dark Elf, she could tell right away that something was wrong, and after making sure that Urag wouldn’t have another go at the General, she ran over to him.

**Chapter 18**  
  
Cirilonde’s eyes slowly fluttered open. Her face hurt and stung where Taurmillan had struck her, but it was not the reason why her awakening was so slow. Aside from the invisible talons holding her in place mid-air, surrounded by a fiery, magical barrier, Taurmillan had dulled her mind with his intricate spells.  
  
She furrowed her brow, wondering what the racket outside was until she could discern the cries of battle, the clatter of blades and the whirling blasts and lights of spellcasting. She wondered briefly if this was another illusion of his, when she suddenly heard the unmistakable voice of Ganir’s Shout which thundered over the courtyard, where no doubt, the battle took place.  
  
_What is happening…How can…?!_ Cirilonde grit her teeth for she had shifted slightly and the invisible talons immediately tightened their hold on her and dug into her skin through the fabric of her robes. It took a lot of effort for her to find out that when she relaxed, the talons eased their grip on her. She steadied her breathing and fought against Taurmillan’s influence over her mind flow, which was weakening for some reason. _They need me…I need to break out of this…  
  
_ The ward and the talons would no doubt prove to be a challenge, but there was also the issue of the magic-suppressing irons that still tied her hands together. Her mind reeled as she ran through all the possibilities based on her vast knowledge of the magic schools but as the battle outside grew more intense, she let out a cry of frustration. _I don’t have time to over think this!_ In her exasperation, she struck at thin air as if the invisible talons had a face. They immediately reached to restrain her once more, but as much pain as  they inflicted on her, grazing and tearing at her skin, she was determined to not let herself be contained any longer like some skittish animal.  
  
She yelled and swore, in pain and anger as she fought against the invisible talons until they finally had enough of her and they slammed her against the ward. She yelped as the magic-suppressing irons collided against the fiery ward and grew immensely hot, but she also saw that the barrier began to weaken.  
  
She was then slammed to the ground by the malevolent force but in spite of it all, she grinned. _I think there’s a little flaw in your trap, you bastard._ In his full focus to suppress her magic, Taurmillan had overseen her determination to break free and help her friends through physical means and that the magic-suppressing irons were the key.  
  
She waited, patiently, easing her breathing and relaxing her body, though it trembled as the adrenaline began to rush through her body. She would succeed no matter what.  
  
When she felt the grip waver, lingering in the background again, she jumped up and rammed the irons against the ward. The  talons grabbed hold of her arms and tried to tear them away from the ward, but every time the irons hit the ward, they too grew weaker. The stench of burning wool of her robes and her flesh soon filled her nostrils as with each blow, the irons grew hotter and hotter, but as unbearable as it was, she would not relent or give up. The College, her friends, they needed her!  
  
_I’m going to make you pay for what you did to Tolfdir even if it means the death of me you. Fucking. Bastard!_ With those last three words, she gave it her all and threw her full body weight and all her strength in ramming the wards with the irons. Both the ward and the irons gave, shattering like glass. She turned her face away as an instinctive reaction to protect herself. She flew through the air and skidded over the floor, landing quite unceremoniously, but she had broken free.  
  
She curled up, wincing and whimpering as she clutched one of her wrists which were badly burned. Her stomach churned from the pain and how dizzy and drained she felt. Initially, she didn’t realize it as it had been feint, but she had also completely forgotten about Savos Aren’s amulet around her neck which grew warm and she felt its enchantment flow forth. The bleeding cuts and scratches that the claws had left were mended but it wasn’t strong enough to properly heal the burns, but well enough to stop it from hurting too much.  
  
Though she definitely felt better, her body still ached and she crawled to her hands and knees when the walls shook once more, followed by a Shout and the clatter of blades. Except, this had not been outside, but downstairs in the Hall of Elements…  
  
_Ganir!_ She stumbled for the door and grabbed hold of its handle to open it, but it was locked. Having gathered her strength, she didn’t hesitate a moment and blasted the lock open, shielding her face from the splinters with her arms before she made her way down. Each time the walls shook again, she stopped and leaned against the wall for support, afraid she would fall as she still wasn’t that steady on her feet. The first thing she saw was that the door to the Hall of Elements had been blasted to smithereens and outside, she saw how the College Mages protected their home, fighting Taurmillan’s men. Her blood ran cold when she ran into the Hall of elements, expecting Taurmillan to fight Ganir, but instead, saw the Lord Exarch face off against Ancano.  
  
Taurmillan’s blade was ablaze with magical fire, channeled by himself while he was on the offensive against Ancano, who wielded the Staff of Magnus. But as powerful as Taurmillan’s magic and blows were, the Staff of Magnus did not yield to the blade and absorbed the magic. But with each blow, the impacts were slowly but surely wearing down on Ancano who was forced to defend himself, raising the Staff to ward off the blows, if not side-step to dodge whatever spell was hurled his way.  
  
“Enough of this foolishness!” Taurmillan bellowed and with the ease of unsheathing another blade, he conjured a Daedric blade and lunged for Ancano once more. With renewed vigor, the Lord Exarch leapt forward and slammed both blades down on the Staff of Magnus. The impact of the magic infused blades against the Staff  caused a blast of energy that threw both the Elves back, knocking Ancano on his back.  
  
Taurmillan made a speedy recovery and charged for Ancano once more now that he was vulnerable. “This ends here and now!” The Lord Exarch roared, intent on delivering the killing blow.  
  
Ancano raised the Staff of Magnus and the blades, one ablaze and the other conjured clashed against the dragon bone artefact. Rather than retreat and strike at Ancano again, however, Taurmillan forced his blades down on the Staff with all his strength while the other High Elf fought back with all of his.  
The crackle of teal lightning surrounded the Staff and the scars left by the Eye of Magnus on Ancano’s body flared up and he howled in pain while struggling to protect himself.  
   
“You will rue the day you crossed me, Ancano and I will make sure you suffer!” Taurmillan’s face was set in a snarl, furious and determined to be victorious. It consumed him so much that he hadn’t seen or heard Cirilonde charge at him with the elven blade she found lying near a dead Thalmor soldier at the entrance until it was too late.  
  
“The only one who will suffer is you!” Cirilonde roared as she plunged the blade through his back. Blood burst from the wound along with the blade and the air was knocked from the Lord Exarch’s lungs and blood poured from his mouth.  
In the momentum that the force of his blades against the Staff was weakened, however, the Staff retaliated and unleashed its full force against all three elves.  
  
The stone floor under Ancano dented and cracked under the Staff’s power and he gasped for air as the impact broke his ribs. Cirilonde was flung against the far wall and so was Taurmillan, however in another direction.  
  
Rather than collapse dead to the ground like anticipated however, Taurmillan stood slumped against the pillar, clutching the profusely bleeding wound in rage and disbelief. He then looked at Cirilonde, who lay on the ground face down. “You have defied me for the last time!”   
  
Ancano willed his body to move, but the blow had left him dazed and paralyzed and he watched in horror how the Lord Exarch raised his hand and Cirilonde, who had barely gotten to her feet, suddenly tensed up and was raised off the ground. The scream that escaped her lips was a terrible and primal one.  
  
She had never known such an excruciating anguish to be able to exist, nor had she experienced anything like it. He wasn’t torturing her, he wasn’t even _taking_ the very essence of her life force but he was tearing it from her very being, sparing none of her body so Taurmillan could use it to mend his own. “Stop it, you bastard! You’re killing her!”   


* * *

The battle that raged on the College grounds was still going on as well, but because the College Mages had taken the Lord Exarch’s men by complete surprise, they didn’t just have the upper hand, but they also had their trump card now; the Dragonborn.  
   
The rapid succession in which his blades clattered against Sylva’s was deafening to both their sensitive ears. They had started on the College Courtyard, but their fight had moved them to the battlements as Sylva had no qualms about using anything or anyone as a meat shield or diversion to gain the upper hand.  
  
When Ganir finally managed to outmaneuver her and kicked her off, jumping after her to plunge his blades into her chest and throat, she grinned at him. In the momentum of their fall, she too had readied her blades and they flawlessly stabbed him in the chest on landing. Both their faces showed brief confusion and disbelief as to why neither had died, but then they both realized that they were not mortal.  
  
They rolled over the ground, throwing punches and kicks before Ganir bound backwards and sheathed both his blades. “So you want to play it this way, huh?” he growled, wiping the blood from his face. His armor had been torn and shredded, but so was hers and the both of them were covered in blood; both their own and of others.   
  
“It’s been a while I had this much fun,” Sylva smirked, curling her tongue over her lips to lap up the blood that poured down from the vile gash that Ganir had left across her face from her forehead, over her nose, below her eye to her ear. “But I’ll make sure you’ll pay for scarring up my pretty face.”  
  
“There won’t be much left of it when I’m through with you, bitch!” Ganir had discarded his gloves and he flashed his claws before charging at her. Their fight was comparable to a wolf  facing off against a wild feline. Sylva was unpredictable, agile and swift where as Ganir’s style of combat was calculated and logical, not necessarily to immediately kill, but to expose her weaknesses to make said action the most efficient.  
   
Their claws tore away at each other’s armors and flesh, spattering the ground and walls with red until finally, Ganir saw his chance and ducked under her arm, grabbing hold of it. He then raised his leg against her chest and with all the strength he could muster, he tore her arm from the socket and she shrieked like a banshee. She made to strike at him with her good arm, but he turned away and in that momentum, he gave another jerk and tore her arm from her body and pinned her to the ground. She tried to fend Ganir off her, but with a “FUS” she was knocked to the ground and he shoved his claws into her chest. Blood spattered everywhere as his fingers grasped her heart and tore it out. Her green eyes went wide and she gasped for air like a fish on the dry. Her arm and legs flailed in an attempt to fight off her imminent death, begging and pleading like a child, but Ganir squashed the heart before her very eyes, which grew dull and hollow and her body went limp.  
  
“That’s for Tolfdir, bitch.” Ganir made to help fight the College Mages against the Thalmor, but had it been possible, his blood ran cold as the most terrible, terrifying shriek of pure anguish resounded over the College grounds and surely beyond. “Cirilonde!”   
  
Ganir’s claws tore at the Thalmor that got in his way as he bolted into the Hall of Elements. Just as he entered, he watched how Taurmillan released Cirilonde from his telekinetic grip and she fell to the ground. The Lord Exarch then stretched his other hand out to summon his blade to him. “Just like that damn brother of yours,” he hissed and he made his way over to Ancano.  
  
“Cirilonde!” Ancano roared. “Ciri!” Ancano lay on his stomach, clutching the Staff of Magnus in one hand while the other clutched his chest as if it would ease the pain of his broken ribs. “What did you do to her?! Cirilonde!”   
  
He grunted when Taurmillan kicked him in the chest. “Don’t worry…You’ll be joining her soon.”  
  
“WULD NA KEST!” The Lord Exarch had barely registered the most strange cry as something came charging for him at the speed of light and rammed him in full force. “I will fucking tear you to shreds!” Ganir’s eyes held a glow of feral rage and he lashed his claws at Taurmillan, shredding the black and golden robes and leaving deep gashes over the Lord Exarch’s chest who was not fast enough to raise his blade to protect himself.  
  
Taurmillan was completely taken aback and it showed on his face for a brief moment before he concealed it and conjured another Daedric blade to defend himself against the vampire.  
“Sylva!” He bellowed while parrying Ganir’s blows. “Sylva!”   
  
“I tore that bitch’s heart out and I will do the same with yours!” Ganir snarled, emphasizing each word with every blow he tried to deal, but once the Lord Exarch had recovered his footing, he fought back against the vampire, pushing him back and forced him to retreat after a gout of white-hot flame was shot his way.   
  
“I will burn you to ashes, you mongrel!” Taurmillan bellowed and he shot forth a barrage of flames, forcing Ganir to retreat and dodge. He tried to break free from the assault but the Lord Exarch pushed him into a corner. He had made the same error of assumption again, however, as Ancano had not been rendered unable to fight. Though every, single breath and movement hurt, Ancano leaned on the Staff for support to get to his feet and raised it when Taurmillan joined his hands together to bundle the force of his magic and burn Ganir to a crisp. Ganir threw himself to the ground, but the flames never burst forth from the Lord Exarch’s hands as the Staff of Magnus pulled them towards Ancano. But rather than absorb it, Ancano steered the flames back to the Lord Exarch with the tenfold force, equaling the fiery breath of a dragon.  
  
The Lord Exarch roared in rage and pain as he tried to fight the flames that would soon devour him. The Staff of Magnus began to shake and the teal lightning wreaked havoc on Ancano’s body as the scars lit up again, burning into his skin, but the High Elf was furious and he would not relent even if it would cost him his life. “Hell will know no fury like mine, _Lord Exarch_. I will end you for once and for all!” Ancano bellowed as the two High Elves pushed against the destructive force that would kill either off them. But finally, unexpectedly, the orb on top of the Staff of Magnus shattered and the raw, uncontrolled magic that had been stored within the artefact combined with the flames, shot towards the Lord Exarch. Ganir and Ancano dived out of the way as the entire, combined force engulfed Taurmillan and devoured him whole until nothing remained. An enormous blast wave exploded from the Lord Exarch’s remains as the Staff of Magnus was shattered to pieces and drained everything in its wake of its magicka.  
  
The  two elves slowly and carefully looked up, but once he saw it was safe, Ancano was the first to reach Cirilonde’s side for she still hadn’t moved. “Ciri…!” He knelt down at her side and turned her over, lifting her in his arms. His whole body was aching and the scars that lined his body still held a slowly fading glow. “Ciri…!” He stroked her face and felt she had gone cold. “No…No…” He shook his head in disbelief and gently shook her. “Ciri…Ciri, please wake up.”  
  
“Ancano.” Ganir struggled to get to his feet and beheld the heartbreaking sight before him. The High Elf frantically incanted to heal her, but no matter what he did, the woman in his arms would not open her eyes.  
  
“No…Ciri…not you…” Ancano’s stomach churned with the dreadful realization that she would not wake.   
  
Ganir put his hand on Ancano’s shoulder. Though he could not shed tears, he felt a sorrow unlike any he had felt before since his mother’s brutal murder. Ancano clutched Cirilonde tight against him, burying his face in her hair, nuzzling her and hiding his face from view. His shoulders shook and he was clearly mourning her death, but he didn’t want anyone to see. “Of all the things they could have taken away from me…they took her.”  
  
Ganir tried to maintain his composure but he was choking up. All the memories he had shared with her from the moment he had met Cirilonde flashed before his eyes. The silence that had fallen over the College grounds was deafening.  
  
“I’m sorry, Ancano…I was too late.” Ganir didn’t know what else to say or do and stared at Cirilonde’s lifeless body. He knelt down and gently stroked a few white-golden locks from her face.  
  
Outside, the atmosphere of triumph of the College over the Thalmor was brief. The few of them that had survived had surrendered when they saw it was futile once their Lord had fallen. J’Zhargo, Onmund and Brelyna had to tear Urag off General Thorelas to prevent he would be beaten to death by the enraged Orc. They all looked up when Jarl Korir and his men came riding on to the College grounds and beheld the scene before them in silence, not sure how to react.

“What in the Nine happened here?!” Jarl Korir exclaimed once he had dismounted. “Where is your Arch-Mage…Is he inside, or? Dragonborn!”  
  
When Brelyna saw the fellow Dark Elf, she could tell right away that something was wrong, and after making sure that Urag wouldn’t have another go at the General, she ran over to him.  
  
“I’m fine,” Ganir said, waving a dismissive hand, but it was clear he wasn’t and gripped her arm when she made to go inside. She saw Ancano cradle Cirilonde in his arms, but she wasn’t moving. She shook her head, devastated and her eyes filled with tears.  
  
“No…No…Let me go see her!” But Ganir shook his head.  
  
“Leave him be for now.” Though his tone was gentle, Brelyna could pick up the grave undertone in his voice. The Dark Elf then looked past her at the Jarl who had addressed him, and now stood talking with Faralda.  
  
His eyes scanned the perimeter and watched the countless bodies. Thankfully, all of them were Thalmor, but by Azura had their victory come at a terrible price.  
  
“What do you mean he is dead?! But how in…Why?! Dragonborn,” Jarl Korir turned to Ganir. “I am so sorry.”  
  
“Where are Cirilonde and Ancano?” Faralda looked like she had wrestled a dragon. Her robes were torn and singed in a variety of places and her arms and face had a variety of burns.  
  
Ganir was silent for a moment as he struggled to find the words to convey the fact that Cirilonde was dead, but that very silence told Faralda a lot. “Is she…Is he…?”  
  
“Cirilonde is dead.” Once those three words were uttered and heard, another deafening silence fell. “Ancano is with her now. Just…Just leave him be for now.”  


Jarl Korir tensed, uncomfortable and not sure how to respond at first. “I’m terribly sorry for your losses. I did not know your Advisor that well, but Tolfdir was a son of Skyrim and a man I could deeply respect despite our differences. He worked hard to restore the relation between my people and the College,” Jarl Korir said with surprising sincerity. “If there’s anything you need…”  
  
“Just help them…I’ll be fine. I just need to see her.” Ganir said and then looked at Faralda. “You should get Tolfdir out of the Midden.”

 

* * *

 

  
Riften’s city held many layers and the center was but the tip of the iceberg in regards to its corruption. Shady merchants and menacing henchmen lurked and loitered about its dark alleyways, but the source of it all stemmed from the Ratway, which lay in the lower parts of the city near the water and sewers, out of sight of the common view.

   
It wasn’t easy to find as one would think given its notoriety, but Ondolemar had his connections and there was one in this city as well; a most unpleasant, scarred Khajiit who had eyed the High Elf and his companion with distrust, asking them what business they had in the Ratway when they asked her about it.  
  
“This is Thalmor business, Shavari.” Ondolemar had sneered. “Nothing to concern yourself with.”  
  
“But of course, Justiciar,” the Khajiit’s reply came through gritted teeth and bowed before disappearing into another, foreboding alleyway. The Breton and the High Elf then made their way through the city according to the given directions and made their way down into the Ratway Vaults.  
   
Aside from the fact that the Justiciar was not much company and was not intent on being civil with her (nor was she), Delphine was quite consumed by the countless questions she had. When had Esbern come to Skyrim? How long had he stayed here and why? How had it been possible for them to not have stumbled across one another in her travels?  
  
She was brutally torn from her train of thoughts as the repulsive stench of the Ratway vaults greeted her. Divines knew what the origins were of the disgusting drab that covered the ground and walls; a most likely mixture of mold, excrement and …well, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know. The first two guesses were more than enough. She suppressed her urges to throw up and covered her mouth and nose with her thick, wool scarf. How Ondolemar hadn’t responded in the same fashion as she completely eluded her but she didn’t concern her with it for too long. She wanted to find Esbern as soon as possible and get out of there.   
  
“Look,” Delphine said. “He’s going to be paranoid. You need to stay out of sight or he will assume it’s a Thalmor trap. If it isn’t one after all.”  
  
“Don’t flatter yourself, I wouldn’t waste my time storming through the rain just to apprehend a paranoid old hag, and an older fool on his last days.” Ondolemar was clearly in a foul mood and he would definitely rip the Dragonborn a new one for sending him on this ‘mission’. Not only did he have to put up with Delphine, who _bit_ him of all things, but his robes were getting soiled and Auri-El knew if this filth and stench would ever leave his clothe, nose or hair.  
  
When they heard voices, however, the both of them stopped dead in their tracks and hid away. “All right, old man, we’re giving you a final chance to surrender and come with us willingly!”  
  
“Just leave an old man alone, will you?! I want none of whatever nonsense you’re selling me!” Came an almost stereotypical voice of a stubborn, old man. “I told Brynjolf’s little cronies the same last time!”   
  
They heard how he slammed something shut, probably a tiny peeking hatch of some sort. Delphine looked at Ondolemar, terrified for Esbern’s life. They had found him! _No. Esbern!  
_  
Ondolemar raised his finger to his lips and mouthed “Wait here,” to her, but once he disappeared , Delphine didn’t hesitate a moment. She wasn’t going to leave Esbern in their hands. She _had_ to act!  
  
Ondolemar had carefully made his way over to where his colleagues were, where he beheld a sight he was far too accustomed too in all his years with the Thalmor. An old, toothless woman, clad in bloodstained clothes lay sprawled on the floor. She had been pushed off the grimy stairs and had fallen to her death. Another pair of beggars lay dead as well, killed by the Thalmor soldiers who were accompanied by a greasy, middle-aged Nord and a Thalmor battlemage.  
  
“I hope for you that your valuable resource didn’t lead you to mislead us, Gissur,” said the battlemage to the greasy Nord.   
  
“No, it _has_ to be him. Rulindil was there. He confirmed it!” Gissur exclaimed, pounding his fist on the door. “Open up, old man, we know who you are!”  
  
No  response came from the other end of the door and Ondolemar knew he had to act quickly. _I am risking my neck here for you, Ancano._  
  
He emerged from the shadows and approached the Thalmor, who had spun around when they heard his footsteps. “Justiciar Ondolemar of Markarth…What are you doing here?”  
  
“Forgive my tardiness. I was delayed on the way here,” Ondolemar lied. “Did you not receive the missive?”   


“What missive?” Gissur asked, suspicious right away. As lowly of a spy he was, he was the fly on the wall in the Embassy and he knew a lot more than he often let on. “There’s been no missions at all as most have been recalled to reconstruct the Embassy. Didn’t you hear?”   
  
“Mind your tongue, Nord and remember who you’re speaking too,” Ondolemar glared down at Gissur, who visibly cringed and backed down. “I was sent here to retrieve the old fool for safekeeping until the Embassy is operational again.”  
  
“But we received no such notice!” The battle-mage protested.  
  
“Need I remind you as well who you’re speaking too, operative?” Ondolemar narrowed his eyes. “I should have you lashed for insubordination.”  
  
“No, please, forgive me, Justiciar, I meant no disrespect!” The battle-mage wasn’t necessarily concerned with the pain from the lashes, but rather the shame that came as a consequence. “The problem, however, is that he has completely sealed off his door with the most intricate wards and locks.”  
  
“I see,” Ondolemar made to continue the charade when they all turned their heads when they heard someone come running over.

“Don’t fall for that traitor’s lies!” Shavari shouted. “He is a traitor! He’s in collaboration with the Dragonborn!”  
  
How she could have known, Ondolemar didn’t know, but he was most grateful when Delphine leapt down from a manhole above them and ran her katana through the two Thalmor soldiers, leaving Ondolemar to contend with the battlemage.  
  
“What’s going on out there?! Can’t an old man sleep in peace without all this racket?!” Esbern shouted from the other end of the door.  
  
“Esbern!” Delphine cried. “It’s me, Delphine!” She took a sharp breath when Shavari’s dagger missed her face by an inch or two. She spun around and kicked the Khajiit in the stomach, causing her to double over and back away. Delphine then made to slash her blade at Shavari, but she raised her dagger in defense, which was slammed from her grasp from the impact.

“Scum!” Shavari hissed, baring her teeth and readying her claws. Even though she was unarmed, a Khajiit as vicious as this one would prove to be a formidable foe.   
  
“I don’t know any Delphine!” Esbern shouted back. There was some racket behind the door. Just what was the old man doing?! She didn’t get a chance to ask or think about it as Khajiit female charged for her again, dodging her blade and lashing at her with her chipped, but razor-sharp claws.  
   
The thunder and crackle of magical lightning rumbled through the Ratway vaults as Ondolemar faced off against the nameless battlemage and Gissur.  
  
“You know that this won’t end well for you, Ondolemar!” Gissur taunted from one of the tunnels where he had hidden away for cover.  
  
_You wouldn’t be as confident if you were alone, you slime_. Ondolemar cursed the lack of space that was not only a setback for him, but also to the Thalmor battlemage with Gissur. They had slung spells back and forth between one another while diving from one tunnel to another in an attempt to dive for cover if not sneak up on one another.   
  
Ondolemar pushed himself against the wall as Gissur passed by him with the battlemage in tow. Though they hadn’t seen him, he knew it was best to not get caught and he carefully shimmied sideways. When he looked down at his feet to make sure he wouldn’t accidentally kick anything away, he saw the familiar shimmer of oil in the drab.  
  
He hadn’t been eager to use fire magic in fear of blowing the whole Ratway up because of the fumes and gasses that could possibly linger, but he saw that the trail of oil lead from him to the tunnel where the spy and battlemage had gone. He then looked up and saw that the oil in question was dripping down from a nearby manhole. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. This would do.  
   
He gave his position away by shattering a glass bottle, groaning as though he had fallen or had been overwhelmed. Gissur and the battlemage immediately took the bait and ran over, freezing on the spot when they saw the flames dance in Ondolemar’s hand. The High Elf Smirked triumphantly and he used a jump spell to leap through the manhole as he threw the flames to the ground. The oil and fumes caught flame instantly and it happened so fast that the Thalmor battle-mage and Gissur couldn’t get away in time. Ondolemar swore profusely when he dove for cover as flames shot up through the manhole he had jumped through and he landed in a puddle of slick, repulsive drab but he had to stay down lest he get burned himself.   
  
When he was certain it was safe, he lowered himself through the manhole and scrunched his nose when he saw the charred remains. _Quite gruesome…but efficient._ He made his way over to the room where Esbern was hiding behind the locked door. Delphine sheathed her blade, spatters of blood all over her face and armor. Before her stood the headless body of Shavari who shortly after fell to the ground as her head rolled over the floor.  
  
When Delphine saw the Thalmor, however, covered in soot and mud, she couldn’t help but laugh. “Judging by that look you’d think you’ve been wrestling pigs.” She laughed, much to his dismay. He made to retort when she turned to pound the door where Esbern had been hiding. “Esbern. It’s me. You’ve _got_ to open the door.”  
  
“I don’t know any Esbern!” The old Nord said once again.  
  
“That’s not the Esbern I know from the thirtieth of Frostfall!” Delphine’s voice croaked. She had not been there herself that day, but every single Blade would forever remember that terrible day.  
  
Ondolemar furrowed his brow for a brief moment, but then remembered what had happened that day. The thirtieth of Frostfall in the one-hundred and seventy-first year of the Fourth Era, was the day that the Aldmeri Dominion had sent an ambassador to the Imperial city with a gift in a covered cart and an ultimatum for the new Emperor. The long list of demands included the disbandment of the Blades, outlawing the worship of Talos and ceding large sections of Hammerfell to the Dominion. Despite the warnings, Emperor Titus Mede the second rejected the ultimatum, and the ambassador upended the cart and spilled over a hundred heads on the floor which had once belonged to the Blades agents posted in Summerset and Valenwood.  
  
And so, the Great War had begun.  
  
Delphine glared at Ondolemar over her shoulder as if he was the sole person responsible for this very heinous act and he glared back at her. The Blades had been right in assuming the Aldmeri Dominion were a threat; they were superior! But in Ondolemar’s eyes, it had been no excuse to drag in countless lives to thwart the Thalmor and the Dominion.  
  
“What’s that knife-ear doing with you, Delphine?” Esbern glared at Ondolemar through the peek hole in his door. Delphine knew that they had both aged, but her heart fell when she saw how hard the years had been on him. He had to be closing in on the age of eighty now and though he hadn’t a single hair on his head, a thick, messy beard adorned his jawline.   
  
“He’s one of the good guys…as far as that goes for his sort,” Delphine assured him. “Look, just open the door and let us in.”  
  
“Yes, yes, but of course…” Esbern then glared at Ondolemar. “I’m watching you nasty. If you think you had your hands full with Delphine, you’ll be in for something if you think you can pull something on me.”  
  
Delphine couldn’t help but chuckle as Ondolemar’s face showed his dismay but nevertheless patiently waited, crossing his arms over his chest while the old Nord disarmed the countless traps, “This will just take a moment!” unlocked all the locks, “Urgh, this one always sticks…” and dismissed the wards. _And I thought she was paranoid…_ he thought when the door finally opened. “There we go. Come in. Just how did you find me and what do you want, Delphine?” Esbern asked. “Have you any idea how dangerous it is for us to be here together? Why are you even keeping up the fight after all these years? I told you so many times years ago that it is hopeless by now.”  
  
Ondolemar briefly pondered the old Nord’s sanity as he went off a tangent, but Delphine just gave him a look to let it go for now. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?” Esbern glared at Ondolemar, “Even not your ‘superior-bred’ lot? What more needs to happen before you all wake up and see what’s going on?! Alduin has returned, just like the prophecy said!”   
  
Esbern’s room in the Ratway Warrens was most unpleasant, least to say and as she looked around while he rambled, Delphine wondered not only how he had been able to stow away here for Divines knew how long, but also how it had kept him sane.  
  
“They wouldn’t listen. Fools.” Esbern muttered while he skipped through the pages of his journal. “No one can escape Alduin, who devours the souls of the dead even in the afterlife until nothing is left. Nothing can stop him…”  
  
“Wait!” Delphine said. “Alduin…Ganir mentioned that name. We saw him raise another dragon in Kynesgrove.”  
  
“Yes! Yes!” Though he had looked so old and tired before, the old Blade now seemed renewed and alive. “But though you have seen ,you still do not understand, Delphine!”  
   
Ondolemar scoffed, skeptical. “You’re talking about the literal end of the world?”  
   
“Oh, yes. It’s all been foretold. It has already begun with Alduin’s return.” Esbern replied. “Only a Dragonborn can stop him, but none has been known to be in centuries.” The old Nord sighed. “It seems that the gods have grown tired of us and left us to our fate.”  
   
“It’s not hopeless Esbern, that’s why I’m here!” Delphine exclaimed. “I found the Dragonborn!”   
  
“What…?” Esbern blinked in disbelief. “A Dragonborn after all this time? Then we must…We must-,”  
  
“Go to the College of Winterhold,” Ondolemar grit out through clenched teeth. The inane rambling between the two Blades and the stench of the Warrens made his head pound and nauseous. “You can enjoy your little bonding as you catch up on the way there. There’s no time to waste. They are waiting.”  
  
“Yes, yes, but of course!” Esbern frantically began opening cabinets and drawers as he gathered his things. “Give me…Give me just a moment. I must gather a few things.”  
  
Ondolemar rubbed his temples with a sigh. This was going to be a _long_ trip.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I know this was another, most heavy chapter but this is definately not the end of it all without giving the spoilers away too much.
> 
> I'd like to thank everyone for sticking around and reading this fic still, commenting and leaving the kudos. It's really appreciated and I always look forward to seeing them as I write.
> 
> (Edit: I fixed up a little paragraph because I had forgotten about Gissur being present in the Ratway Warrens. Woops!)


	20. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ganir nodded and looked at Ancano over his shoulder, who had patiently been waiting. He then looked back at Cirilonde and squeezed her hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of his hand. He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Until the next dawn, Ciri.”

**Chapter 19**  
  
Ganir watched the flames engulf the hay and wood of the funeral pyre and the flowers that had been left as parting gifts withered away before they and Tolfdir’s body were devoured by the fire. They had bid their farewells to Mirabelle Ervine and Savos Aren not too long ago in a similar fashion, but it was so different all the same. He hadn’t known Tolfdir very well, but he had been a gentle and kind soul, even if he could be stubborn. He perhaps would have lived only a few more winters to die a natural death but Ganir wasn’t at peace with the Nord’s death, which had been unnecessary and cruel. It had not been without honor and dignity as some of Winterhold’s villagers and Jarl Korir himself were present to pay their respects to a son of Skyrim who had put a lot of effort in trying to improve the relation between Winterhold and its College.  
  
“I hope that even though he has passed, we can still work towards what he aimed to achieve,” Faralda had said to the Jarl, who had shook her hand with a nod as a silent promise.  
  
A cold block of ice slowly sank into his stomach as he dreaded what was to come once the flames had died down. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet, not to Cirilonde.  
   
The Dragonborn looked over at Ancano, who stood with what remained of the College’s staff, clad in black, velvet robes with silver trimming. His long, silver-white hair had been bound back. Though the robes were thick and kept him warm, one could tell easily that a thick layer of bandages were wrapped around his chest underneath. The magical scars that had lit up during his fight against Taurmillan had long faded, but the silver lines remained and marred his otherwise perfect and golden skin. His face was set in a cold, harsh and unreadable expression and Ganir knew he would probably never see the High Elf’s loss of composure again. He wondered what went on in his mind as all of the College’s mages, one by one, let one of their Mage lights float up into the sky, briefly lighting the College grounds as the flames slowly died down at last and only embers remained.  
  
It was a beautiful gesture that deeply moved Ganir. They briefly stood in silence before Faralda took the lead and lead the way to the Midden, which had been made more accessible by Jarl Korir’s men by raising a ramp and widening its opening.  
  
It still was a dark and foreboding place, but the way to where Cirilonde had been laid to rest, had been polished up and restored the best they could. Each step grew heavier than words could describe as the labyrinth came into sight. The way was lit by candles and flowers had been laid down to the sides of the tunnel until they reached the room where the Staff of Magnus had been hidden away not too long ago.  
  
He saw how Ancano swallowed and he too struggled to contain his emotions. In the center of the room, on an altar of ice, covered by a black, velvet burial cloth, lay Cirilonde. She wore a white, burial dress-robe and her long hair had been braided and laid over her shoulder. Her hands were folded on her chest, holding Savos Aren’s amulet. It was as though she were asleep and could wake any moment.  
  
Colette had outdone herself to lay Cirilonde to rest in the fashion they had all known her to be; beautiful, serene and graceful. Colette stood with a straight back and silent tears rolled down her cheeks, clad in black and grey robes. The Augur of Dunlain hovered next to her.  
  
One by one the College’s inhabitants approached Cirilonde, leaving a flower and a whisper of goodbye through their tears. Brelyna even left a charm she had made. She and Cirilonde had gotten along very well and would often discuss magical theories if not practice together when she had not been too occupied with helping Tolfdir out.  
  
Ganir had gotten along well with most of the staff and students, but Cirilonde had been everything to him in the short time he’d gotten to know her so well. He felt his heart break as the memories of their short time together flooded him from. How she had looked terrified in the mud and snow after he slew the Thalmor assassins, how they had laughed at the little moments they had shared to the intense battle against Ancano and the dragon and how they had bickered over Ancano’s allegiances.  
   
He looked at the High Elf who stood alone not too far away from him. He still couldn’t pinpoint the cold and aloof Altmer’s true thoughts or feelings, but he trusted him. He had morals. He had honor…And he was brilliant. Only they, Colette and the Augur remained in the room now and he knew that Ancano had purposely waited so he could be alone with Cirilonde.  
  
_You loved her as much as I._  
  
With leaden feet, Ganir walked over to the altar and stroked Cirilonde’s cold cheek with the back of his hand, digging a sharp tooth in his lip. “I could not save them. In the end, it was all in vain.” The Augur had recovered over the course of days, but he was still weak and his light didn’t shine as bright. “I have failed you.”  
  
“You came to Tolfdir’s rescue even though it nearly cost you,” Ganir said without tearing his gaze from Cirilonde. Whatever world would greet her, she would grace it like a radiant beacon of kindness and gentleness. “We all did what we could, Augur. You haven’t failed us once. Thank you for everything you’ve done and tried to do.”  
  
The Augur hovered in silence, clearly moved by the genuine words. “And I thank you, Ganir the Dragonborn. Without the help of you and Ancano, we would not have prevailed.”  
  
“And we will prevail no matter what they will throw against us. I will see to it that this place will be protected no matter what,” Ganir promised. _He didn’t deserve to die. She didn’t deserve to die…_  
  
“As you have.” There was a hint of a small but bitter smile to the Augur’s voice. “For now, we shall part ways...”  
  
Ganir nodded and looked at Ancano over his shoulder, who had patiently been waiting. He then looked back at Cirilonde and squeezed her hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Until the next dawn, Ciri.”  
  
He pulled away and straightened himself. He didn’t want to leave but he knew he had too lest he never. The Dark Elf pulled his hood up as he turned to leave and made no eye-contact with the High Elf in passing, who then finally stepped forward. He waited until the Augur and Colette were gone.  
  
Now that he was alone, Ancano didn’t know what to do or say. There had been a great, many people he had lost over the decades due to the Great War and its aftermath, but he’d never gotten close to anyone, until he met Elenwen. She had held a brilliance, ambition and cunning that initially annoyed him, until he found it challenging and alluring. They had been close. Intimate…And she betrayed him to  rise in the Thalmor ranks over his back and that of the countless, innocent lives.  
  
_But you, not once…You were always there._ He closed his eyes as he could so vividly remember holding her as they practiced Destruction magic. Whenever she had been close, the distinct scent of jasmine lingered. Her melodious, serene incanting resounded in his ears still like a lament. The way her green eyes had initially shot fire at him, but then softened over the course of time. He refused to acknowledge the salty droplets that escaped his eyes but his body betrayed him for his knuckles turned white as he clenched his hands into trembling fists. The life had been torn from her and there had been _nothing_ he could do to stop it.  
  
_Knowledge is power. Power corrupts. It destroys. It is inevitable. Your path will lead you to a destruction that will tear away all you hold dear._ The Augur’s words echoed in his mind when they had first met as he had so arrogantly sought him out to get answers about the Eye. __  
  
The Eye’s mark had humbled him. The Thalmor had humiliated and tortured him, maiming his body. But all the wounds he had sustained at the hands of the Eye of Magnus and the Thalmor paled in comparison to the pain he felt tearing away at his heart. Divines knew that if he could change anything, he would have kissed her one of those long evenings they would tend to the correspondence and inventory long after Tolfdir had retreated for the night. She had broken all the walls he had built up over the course of decades. The three words were there, but instead, he reprimanded himself, his whole body shaking with grief. _I never should have come here…_ “It doesn’t matter.” He bit to himself in a sharp tone. _She’s gone. She won’t come back no matter what you do, fool. What makes you even think…_  
  
But he had held her hand and did not want to leave her.

* * *

 

_  
“I have good reason to believe that the target will be coming to Riften in the next few days. Discretion is preferred, but elimination of the target is of the highest priority. The usual restrictions on exposure are lifted—you will be reassigned outside Skyrim if necessary, without penalty._

_Do not fail me._

_\--E.”_  
  
The contents of the note deeply troubled Ondolemar. Granted, they had eliminated the witnesses involved, but the fact that Elenwen knew ‘someone’ was coming for Esbern other than the Thalmor, made him worry for his safety. This didn’t seem to worry the two Blades that rode some distance behind him and caught up with each other.  
  
The road from Riften to Winterhold had been long, but they had not once stopped to rest. Delphine and Esbern would take turns to hold the reins of the other’s horse as one of them slept. Though elves didn’t need sleep as much as the common mortal, Ondolemar was exhausted but he didn’t trust the two Blades enough to close his eyes for even a moment.  
   
But finally as the sun was setting,  they rode towards the College of Winterhold and when they reached the bridge, they were approached by a tall, Altmer female clad in red gold-trimmed robes and fur-lined boots. Ondolemar dismounted and shook the hand she held out. “You must be the Justiciar we’ve been waiting for,” she said. “I am Faralda, the instruction of the Destruction arts at the College.”  
  
“Ondolemar,” he replied, returning the courtesy. “I see that you have prevailed against the crisis that held this College in its grasp.”  
  
Faralda sighed, “At a price.” She then looked past him at the two Blades that made to dismount, narrowing her eyes. “The Arch-Mage does not permit for strangers to wander the perimeter of his grounds. I will have to request you stay at the Frozen Heart Inn until summoned.”  
  
“ _Summoned?_ ” Delphine repeated in disbelief. “The Dragonborn had us come all the way here to see him! We have information that is of the utmost importance!”  
  
“And he has been tending to matters of utmost importance. We will send for one of our own to retrieve you when he and the Arch-Mage are ready to receive you.” Without another word, Faralda then gestured for Ondolemar to follow her and he couldn’t help but be smug as Delphine angrily gripped the reins of her horse and walked off with Esbern.  
  
“Ganir took the liberty to inform us of everything that has transpired in Solitude and how you have helped us,” she said as they crossed the bridge. “If you wish, we’ve prepared a room for you where you can refresh yourself and get a change of attire.”  
  
“That would be desirable.” Ondolemar beheld the College grounds and though the building was ancient and crude, he had to admit it looked rather impressive. The College’s inhabitants worked together with the villagers to mend the damage the building had sustained in the course of the battle. Doors and windows were being replaced and in the center of the courtyard, near the large font, stood a rather large rock that was currently being carved into shape by a stone mason. Despite their intentions to repair the College, the stones were forever marked by the deep gashes and scorch marks the blades and spells had left upon collision

A great battle had taken place here and Ondolemar worried for Ancano’s well-being. Where in Oblivion was he? Normally, he would’ve greeted him with some sarcastic sneer… Faralda noticed how the Thalmor’s eyes sought the grounds, scanning the countless, strange faces. “He is well as far as the circumstances allow,” Faralda reassured him as she led him into the Hall of Countenance. “I’ll inform them that you’ve arrived while you prepare yourself. If there’s anything you need, just ask.”  
  
“I thank you,” Ondolemar bowed his head to the other Altmer who then left. Now that he was alone, he wasn’t just thankful that he could wash himself, but he was also glad to see that there indeed was a spare set of robes which had been laid out for him on the bed.

As he washed the grime and filth off his body, his mind wandered. It had only been a week ago that Ancano and Ganir had appeared on his doorstep in Markarth. He hadn’t known what to expect in Riften when he went to retrieve the Blades’ lore master, but he had been most uncertain of what would await him in Winterhold.  
  
It all came rather close now and he wondered what consequences this chain of events would have for him, but given that no Thalmor had survived the skirmish in the Ratway, he figured he was safe for now. But at the same time, he wondered where his allegiances now lay.  
  
The ideals of High Elven supremacy that had been instilled on him from a young age on seemed to have drastically turned for the worse over the course of the past decades. Rather than the Altmer people to be the divine beacons of wisdom and supremacy, the Thalmor seemed to have grown twisted and corrupted, focusing their intent on eradicating all mortal races and purging the impurities amongst even their own blood lines.  
  
This had only strengthened the dissent amongst his own people who began to question the Thalmor and the cultural structure of hierarchy that had been the pillars of Altmer society for so many centuries. In his eyes, what use was supremacy if there was no one to bask in the awe of it all?  
  
There was no doubt about it that the Dragonborn would tear all this asunder, but Ondolemar didn’t know what to think or how to feel about this.  
  
Elenwen knew absolutely nothing about the whole Dragon crisis, as he referred to it and though she was outranked, she had neglected her duty as the First Emissary to not put a halt to the Lord Exarch’s pursuits of a far too dangerous artefact. To him, it proved that the Thalmor were growing desperate and eager for power.  
  
A knock came at his door, tearing him from his line of thoughts. “Who goes?”  
  
“Ganir,” replied the Dark Elf. “I’d appreciate a moment of your time.”  
  
“Enter.” Ondolemar fastened the sash of his new robes around his waist and turned to face the Dark Elf. He had expected the handsome, rogue-ish grin and the spark in those cold, red eyes, but instead, he found that the Dark Elf’s eyes looked hollow and dull. His sunken cheeks made him look far more gaunt and so much older than he already was.  
   
“I understood from Faralda that your prevalence against the Lord Exarch cost you dearly, though she wouldn’t elaborate on it.” Ondolemar said. If he looked as terrible as he did, he wondered what state Ancano was in.  
  
“I asked her not too because I wanted to do so myself. Hence why I’m here before we all meet in the Arch-Mage’s Quarters with the Blades.” Ganir’s thick, dark hair shimmered in the feint light as he ran his fingers through it, contemplating where to begin. “To get it out of the way, Ancano is injured, but…all right, given the circumstances. The Lord Exarch besieged the College like we had feared and though we stopped him, we could not prevent the deaths of our Arch-Mage, Tolfdir or the death of our advisor and dear friend, Cirilonde.”  
   
Ondolemar furrowed his brow as countless questions arose. Had Faralda not mentioned that there was an Arch-Mage? And this Cirilonde…A dark suspicion began to form in his mind as to why he hadn’t seen his friend yet.  
  
“If your Arch-Mage perished, then who is now?” he asked.  
  
“Ancano,” Ganir replied. “Tolfdir’s death was devastating in its own right and though Ancano was reluctant to take up the mantle of Arch-Mage, he knew that the College needs him and it’s what Cirilonde would have wanted…She died trying to save him.”  
  
The pieces of the puzzle flawlessly fell into place for Ondolemar and it explained why Ancano had refused to discuss Cirilonde with him, but now she was gone.  
   
“It will do him good to see a familiar face such as yours, so I was hoping you could stay a while,” Ganir concluded.  
   
“But of course,” he said. “However, even if that wasn’t the case, I might have to.” The Justiciar handed the Dark Elf the note he had found on Shavari’s body.  
  
Ganir’s brow furrowed,  troubled. “Were you compromised?”  
  
Ondolemar shook his head. “Not as far as I know, but we are to be cautious if our cooperation is to continue.”  
  
“I never meant for anyone to get dragged into all this. I’m sorry.” Frustrated, Ganir crumpled up the note. Just when they had overcome one hurdle, another one reared its ugly head. Granted, the Thalmor from the Ratway had been eliminated, but they had no idea if the Thalmor were aware of Ondolemar’s involvement in any of it. He could very well be in danger. “I owe you a great deal for helping me out even though you had all reason not to. If there’s anything you need, just ask. The people here won’t harm you. They know who you are and why you are here. Stay as long as you need and like.”  
  
The relief was clear on Ondolemar’s face. At least he would be safe somewhere, should it come to that. “I thank you.”  
   
The Dark Elf had turned to walk away, but then stopped to look at him over his shoulder. “Ancano is either with her now, or he’s locked himself away in his quarters. Perhaps it would lighten his mood if he were to see you before we meet with the Blades later tonight. As your lot says ‘the Thalmor’s memory is long’ and he certainly hasn’t forgotten about Solitude.”  
**  
**

* * *

  


****  
Later that night, the Dragonborn led the Blades and Justiciar up to the Arch-Mage’s Quarters. Even though Ganir had warned him beforehand, Ondolemar’s face showed clear concern for Ancano when he laid eyes on him. Ancano no longer donned the Thalmor robes they both were so accustomed too. Instead, Ancano wore dark-brown, velvet and fur-lined robes with golden trimmings. He would’ve looked quite imposing if he didn’t look as though he hadn’t slept or eaten in days. His eyes held a harsh coldness that was very unlike him.  
  
Then again, it most likely had to do with Delphine, who shifted uncomfortably under the intense, cold glare of the Arch-Mage. She felt as though he was burning holes into her very being. As satisfying as it was to see her discomfort, Ondolemar hoped the Breton was wise enough to not provoke him. Finally, Ancano’s eyes shot to Esbern, who had politely introduced himself and seemed oblivious to the fact that Ancano was a former Thalmor.  
   
“From what I understood, you possess the required knowledge on how to stop this…dragon crisis?” Ancano asked the old Nord after he had regarded him with a disdainful indifference.  
  
“Yes…Yes,” Esbern seemed a bit distracted as he had occupied himself with taking in his surroundings, eyeing the odd trinkets and ends that lined the shelves and desk. “It has been such a long time since we last had any glimmer of hope, but now that a Dragonborn has appeared, this logically changes everything. But there’s no time to lose while Alduin is still out there. We must locate…Hold on, let me show you something…” The old Nord rummaged through the bag he had slung over his shoulder. “I know I had it here, somewhere…”  
  
“Esbern…what are you doing?” Delphine suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Though they’d been able to eat at the Frozen Hearth, she was exhausted. Sleeping on horseback wasn’t exactly comfortable. And she really didn’t want to stay here any longer than needed. Ondolemar was intimidating in his own right, but Ancano was another story. If looks could kill, she would’ve been dead and buried at this point…if not disintegrated on the spot and he seemed most capable of both.  
   
“Ah, here it is. Let me show you…” Esbern produced a moldy, leather bound book from his bag and laid it on the Arch-Mage’s desk, opening it on a particular page. “You see this right here? Sky Haven Temple. Constructed around one of the main Akaviri military camps in the Reach, during their conquest of Skyrim.”  
  
Delphine furrowed her brow. “What are you going on about, Esbern? What does any of this-,?”  
  
Esbern shushed Delphine, waving his hand, tapping at a particular paragraph in the book. “This is where they built Alduin’s Wall. To set down in stone all their accumulated dragon lore. A hedge against the forgetfulness of centuries. A wise and foresighted policy, in the event. Despite the far-reaching fame of Alduin’s Wall at the time, one of the wonders of the ancient world, its location was lost.”  
  
“Would you care to get to the point, _lore master_? What does this ‘wall’ have to do with anything?” Ancano’s voice had held an icy tone while his long fingers drummed on the desk; a clear indicator the Arch-Mage’s patience was wearing thing, which seemed best avoided given his disposition. Though the old Nord clearly possessed a vast amount of knowledge they needed, he was far too caught up in the details he forgot why he was really here in the first place…or who he was talking too.  
  
Esbern cleared his throat, noticing the warning look that Delphine had given him. “I’m not surprised that you haven’t heard of Alduin’s Wall, though I’m surprise you haven’t, Delphine.”  
  
“Just tell us what Alduin’s Wall has to do with stopping the dragons, Esbern. We don’t have time for this right now,” Delphine said, crossing her arms over her chest.  
   
“Alduin’s Wall was where the ancient Blades recovered all they knew of Alduin and his return. Part history, part prophecy. Its location has been lost for centuries, but I’ve found it again. Not lost, you see, just forgotten. The Blades’ archives held so many secrets…I was only to save a few scraps after the Thalmor burned most of Cloud Ruler Temple down…” As the Old Nord laid out the notes and sketches he had gathered over the years, he gave Ondolemar a pointed glare when Cloud Ruler Temple was mentioned. “Alduin’s Wall _will_ hold the key on how to stop Alduin.”  
   
They all looked at the information laid out on the desk by Esbern. According to his research, like he pointed out, Sky Haven Temple was located East of Markarth. “Sky Haven Temple it is then, I suppose.”  
  
Ganir, however, slammed his hand down on the map Delphine had made to take. “I don’t think you and I are going anywhere after what you pulled on me in Solitude…”  
  
“Gods be damned, Dragonborn, are you honestly still begrudging me for that?” Delphine slammed her fist down in return. “You had me ride for Riften with _him_ -,” Ondolemar and she exchanged death-glares, “-through cold and storm and had us wait for hours because you had ‘better things to do’. I told you a dozen times back then that I couldn’t. Risk. It.”  
  
“If I am to work with you I need to know whether I can trust you or not and right now I wouldn’t trust you with the life of my worst enemy!” Ganir’s eyes flared up as he and the Breton glared each other down. Ondolemar glanced at Ancano, who regarded the argument with a calculating glimmer in his eyes. “Abandoning me with a treacherous wood elf and an injured comrade in the heat of pursuit by the Thalmor. Disobeying Ondolemar’s direct orders to wait and your complete disrespect and disregard for anything but your narrow-minded views. You will be either the death of me, or what I have left in this cursed land!  
  
“You think you have lost a lot? That you have suffered? I was _there_ when the gates to Oblivion opened. I was _there_ when Martin shattered the Amulet of Kings and sacrificed himself for all of us and I was there when they burned Cloud Ruler Temple to the ground and butchered every last one of them. But I was not there in time to save Tolfdir or Cirilonde…and I won’t let it happen again because you can’t fucking swallow your pride and cease to be blinded by your hatred.” Delphine stood in silent, trembling rage and disbelief. He had not spoken in the Dragon’s tongue, but the Dragonborn’s voice had shaken her to the very core. “Now. Get. Out.”  
  
It was Esbern who spoke who stood up, breaking the Dragonborn’s ‘hold’ on her. “As you wish, Dragonborn. We will await your summons in the Frozen Hearth Inn as you asked of us. If there is anything you need, we are at your disposal.”  
  
“Thank you, lore master.” Ganir spoke without tearing his gaze away from Delphine’s, who finally cast her eyes down and nodded.  
  
“As you wish, Dragonborn.”  
  
A shiver ran down Ondolemar’s spine. He had never experienced such an intense power and he realized that very moment, all his doubts were erased. Ganir Mathendis truly was a force to be reckoned with that would definitely tear asunder the dissent that held Tamriel in its grasp.

Ganir and Ondolemar regarded Ancano, who looked tired and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll see to it they actually leave the College grounds. I’m sure the  two of you have a lot to discuss.”  
  
“Yes. Of course.” Came Ancano’s irritable response, but he made no indication that he desired to be left alone. The heavy chair he was sat in scraped over the stone floor and Ondolemar followed him to the large window where the Arcane Eye was embedded into.  
  
“Ganir told me of what occurred,” Ondolemar said, the both of them watched Ganir escort the two Blades off the grounds like he said he would. “I am sorry for your losses. She sounded like a gentle soul.”  
  
He hadn’t thought it possible but Ancano’s facial expression hardened even more. He had folded his hands behind his back and began clenching and unclenching his hands into fists. “It doesn’t matter. They are gone. Nor do I have need for your sentiments. Aside from  the Dragon Crisis, we have a minor issue I’ll need your assistance with lest I strangle the life out of him with my bare hands.”  
  
Ondolemar raised a brow. “Do tell.”  
  
“When the Lord Exarch died by my hands, his General immediately surrendered. I would have torn him apart had he not made a bold claim that I cannot ignore,” Ancano said. “Apparently, the Lord Exarch hoped to use her parents as leverage against Cirilonde to disclose the location of the Staff of Magnus, which as you can see here, is broken…” Ondolemar looked at the nearby enchanting table, where a dragon-bone carved staff lay with shattered crystal-fragments. “I’ve spent a few good nights to figure out how to mend it, but for so far, I’ve made no progress…” he then waved his hand in a dismissive manner, seemingly annoyed he was so distracted. “I will need you to interrogate this General in disclosing the whereabouts of her elders. They need to be informed of their daughter’s death…” he then turned away from Ondolemar, “…and recover her remains, if they so desire.”  
  
“I will do what I can.” Ondolemar crossed his arms over his chest. “On the condition you get yourself a proper meal and rest.”  
  
There was a barely visible tug at the corner of Ancano’s lip. “But of course, _mother._ ”  
  
Ondolemar put his hand on Ancano’s shoulder before he left to do as asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What, you thought that this would be the end of it all?
> 
> Oh no no no no no! Of course not.
> 
> But hey, can't just go about spoiling everything now, can I?
> 
> Unless of course, you want me too


	21. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter where Ganir and Ondolemar debate semantics before they part ways:
> 
>  
> 
> “Different times. Different people. They had a goal. They had Martin…” There was a contemplative, odd flicker in Ganir’s eyes. “Esbern is knowledgeable but a fool. Delphine is blinded by her hatred for the Thalmor or anything that doesn’t support the Empire, but they have no purpose.”
> 
> “And you do not hate the Thalmor?” Ondolemar asked skeptically. “You left a trail of death in your wake at the Embassy…”

**Chapter 20**  
  
Initially, Ondolemar had scowled at the thought of sleeping in a bed that very much reminded him of sleeping in a shack amongst the cattle like some peasant. He had grown spoiled over the course of time, bathing in the luxury of his quarters in Markarth where all finery was at his disposal to make his stay all the more comfortable. But once he laid down on the hay and pulled the thick, wool covers over him, he knew that his own bed would not warm him and he was far too exhausted to really complain…until the next morning. He swore when he made his way outside and the ice cold winds struck him in the face. He had been wise enough to put his Thalmor over cloak in his saddlebags before he went down into Riften’s sewers and he wrapped them tight around him in an attempt to stay warm as he made his way across the College grounds.  
  
Ganir joined him halfway, quite amused by the red glow on the Altmer’s nose and cheeks. “Don’t worry, you get used to it after a while,” he said with a grin. He had clearly fed for his cheeks weren’t as sunken anymore. Subconsciously, Ondolemar reached for his neck.  
  
“I strongly doubt it,” Ondolemar grumbled. “I’ve taken the liberty of cross-referencing Sky Haven Temple’s alleged location with my own information. I must caution you that the very region you will be travelling to, is crawling with Forsworn and that there might even be an encampment in the nearby perimeter of Karthspire.”  
  
“Forsworn?” Ganir raised a brow.  
  
“Savages.” Ondolemar replied. “The original inhabitants of the Reach and Markarth that were…forcibly removed by the native Nords to claim it as their own. You would do well to heed my warning to avoid them whenever possible. They collaborate with the primal, wicked Hagravens.”  
  
“You’re telling this to someone who has slain three dragons…”  
  
“Noted, but nevertheless, I recommend you watch your back. I don’t particularly trust those two Blades either…”  
  
“Neither do I, but we’ll have to contend with them for now to get the information I need.”  
  
“Strikes me as odd given your past with the Blades,” Ondolemar regarded Ganir with curiosity. “After all, are you not the Hero of Kvatch who fought alongside the last Septim?”  
  
“Different times. Different people. They had a goal. They had Martin…” There was a contemplative, odd flicker in Ganir’s eyes. “Esbern is knowledgeable but a fool. Delphine is blinded by her hatred for the Thalmor or anything that doesn’t support the Empire, but they have no purpose.”  
  
“And you do not hate the Thalmor?” Ondolemar asked skeptically. “You left a trail of death in your wake at the Embassy…”  
  
“Semantics.” Since this conversation would take a while, Ganir and he moved under the walkway to take shelter from the cold wind and snowfall. The Dark Elf leaned against the pillar, crossing his arms over his chest. He did not seem antagonized by Ondolemar’s questions, however, but rather intrigued. “I could ask you the same question why you did not kill me. I am all your Dominion seeks to eradicate.”  
  
Ondolemar inclined his head, feeling curious as well. The Dark Elf certainly was no common brute with a silver tongue…but what drove him to do what he did? “You clearly had no intent of killing me back in Markarth and you were with Ancano, who you could have killed as well.”  
  
“Trust me, I once nearly did,” Ganir chuckled. “But Ciri knew better. She saw the Eye of Magnus possessed him. It all had us in its grasp. She healed his wounds. Azura knows what granted her such patience, but Ancano eventually understood that we all were in trouble and we’d have to make the best of it together to prevent a worse fate for us all.”  
  
“An understatement,” Ondolemar snorted. He could only imagine what raw, unbridled power the Eye of Magnus held and what it could have done to the College and the world, had the Psijic not intervened. “But that still doesn’t answer my initial question.”  
  
“I grow weary of killing,” Ganir said darkly, looking away. “It gives me no pleasure, but they left me no choice. Make no mistake to confuse me with a mindless killing machine without a conscience, but know that I will rise to whatever challenges me if they endanger what I hold dear and value. What matters right now, is that I trust you and Ancano. This has nothing to do with either of you being Thalmor, if that is what your concern was.”  
  
“To a degree,” Ondolemar admitted. “I’d rather not find your teeth buried in my neck.”  
  
Ganir laughed. “I’d rather not end up on either end of your blade.”  
  
Ondolemar glared at him, but then sighed. “Remind me to pummel Ancano for letting you in on that…incident.”  
  
“If it’s any consolation I’ve had my share of … similar escapades, if not perhaps more scandalous.” There it was again, that deep chuckle, followed by the rogue-ish smirk. “But I digress, you did not answer mine either.”  
  
“Very well,” Ondolemar nodded. “I shall return the courtesy…” Ondolemar rolled his tongue in his mouth as he thought of how to word it. As much thought as he had given it, voicing them was another matter. “In all fairness, given my position as Thalmor Justiciar, I am to report you as a  threat, if not eliminate it, but I cannot ignore this recent chain of events any longer. The Thalmor I was raised to join believed for us to be the catalyst to start an age of enlightenment and establish the Dominion as the ruling body of Tamriel. But this…blatant disregard for human life, the petty squabbles and clawing at whatever within reach for power…” Ondolemar glanced past the pillars up to the Arch-Mage’s tower. No doubt, Ancano had ignored Ondolemar’s request for him to get some proper food and rest. “I do not envy the path Ancano has chosen, whether the gods will it or not, but I admire him all the same. He’s made a stance of open defiance. Something not only I, but so many others have been too afraid to do.”  
  
Judging by the look on Ganir’s face, he was intrigued. Then again, he had never really spoken as openly with any Thalmor before. Not even with Ancano, but he was quite the character to begin with. “And yet, you are here, aiding someone with a power that could rally opposition powerful enough to tear it all apart. Make no mistake, I know the legacy of a Dragonborn.”  
  
“It does not seem to bother Ancano, but what has he to lose?” Ondolemar shook his head and sighed. “The Thalmor are no longer the representation of High Elven supremacy. Not anymore.”  
  
_And to top it off, why am I telling you all this?_ Ondolemar thought as he ran his fingers over his shaven scalp.  
  
“Don’t worry, I have no intention of waging war. I came to Skyrim to find a cure for my…condition.” Ganir tapped on one of the razor-sharp teeth in his mouth. “This…All of it,” He gestured at the surroundings, “all just stumbled on my path by fate and so did Ciri, which brought me here.”  
  
The Dark Elf’s eyes looked at the Courtyard, but so far beyond at the same time as if he could envision her walking there as if she had never been gone. “You speak fondly of her, if I may make such a bold observation.”  
  
“She reminded me of a girl of the streets when I was younger. I protected her. Looked after her and loved her as a sibling.” Ganir shook his head and looked up at the Arch-Mage’s tower now. “He doesn’t know or doesn’t want to know. Perhaps it is even best, but she loved him.”  
  
Ondolemar didn’t need to be told, but it comforted him for some reason to know that Ancano hadn’t made himself vulnerable to a woman like Elenwen. “Don’t worry. I will keep an eye on things while I take care of this...other thorn in your side. I will have to consult my contacts abroad, however, so it might take a while.”  
  
“It is appreciated regardless,” Ganir said, genuinely thankful. “I just hope it isn’t too late. I should be back within the week or so. I will make sure to keep you informed.”  
  
“Auri-El guide you, Dragonborn.” Ondolemar bowed his head to the Dark Elf and the courtesy was returned.  
  
“Azura watch over you.” Ganir turned and made his way over to the stables, retrieving Tormagg before he made his way over to the Frozen Hearth Inn where Delphine and Esbern stood waiting for him.  
  
The two Blades followed the Dragonborn without a word and so their journey for Sky Haven Temple began. Ganir was quite content to ride alone ahead of them as Esbern’s prattling soon enough annoyed him. _I should’ve left around nightfall,_ he grumbled to himself. Once the sun’s glare pierced the thick clouds, Ganir’s head immediately began to pound and he pulled his hood up farther.  
  
To add to his annoyance, he now had to compromise with his two travelling companions, of which one insisted they make camp for the night so they could eat and rest before they continue their way again at dawn. While the two Blades made themselves comfortable at the campfire, Ganir was more than happy to keep to himself while he sharpened his blades and kept watch during the night.  
Delphine seemed rather content with this as well, but she was definitely more respectful towards him now.  
  
Finally, on the third day at dawn, they closed in on where Sky Haven Temple would be. They dismounted the horses some way back, however, heeding Ondolemar’s warning about the Forsworn, but they grew especially worried when they saw a variety of thick, black puffs of smoke rise from the hill beyond.  
  
Upon closing in, they saw that the whole encampment had been burned down to the ground and nothing had been spared. The wooden, make-shift walkways lay scattered and splintered to smithereens. Charred bodies lay twisted and contorted on the ground…Ganir felt a rush of adrenaline surge through him and his eyes narrowed. All his senses peaked to alarm.  
  
“Definitely a dragon.” His eyes scanned the skies as if he was expecting one to fly overhead somewhere just now, but they were empty.  
  
“How can you tell?” Delphine asked.  
  
“The claw marks on the stone.” Ganir pointed out the facts he summarized that led to his deduction. “The wood must have been slammed to bits upon impact of the dragon’s landing if he didn’t slam it with his tail. The way they were burned. They weren’t bound. They were running for their lives. Not to mention the stench of sulphur.”   
  
“Esbern. I don’t see any temple…”  
  
The Forsworn encampment, or what remained of it, had lain in a valley with a creek running through it. Overhead, loomed the remains of an old, Nordic burial, which they had passed by. The temple definitely wasn’t there.  
  
“That cave over there…” Esbern pointed out. “The Akaviri were masters of disguise to whatever sanctuary they built. No doubt, it is hidden there somewhere.”  
  
Ganir slung the bow off his shoulder and knocked an arrow as a precaution and emerged from his hiding place. The two Blades followed him shoot and he glanced at them over his shoulder. “Be on your guard. The dragon could still be on the prowl somewhere.”  
  
They waded through the ice-cold water of the creek and were greeted by the stench of burnt flesh and sulphur as they approached the cave’s entrance. Ganir leaned against the rock as he peered inside, bow and arrow at the ready. The darkness wasn’t an issue, but the thick smoke that lingered within and slowly wafted out of the cave did not permit him to properly see what was inside.  
  
He signaled for the two Blades to take a position at each side of the cave’s entrance while he headed inside, but it was a mere matter of seconds that the Dark Elf came running out, screaming “Dragon” at the top of his lungs and dove to the ground. A gout of white-hot flame shot forth from the cave and missed the Dragonborn by mere inches.  
  
“Nii fon tul vorey joor gruz sul voth dinok naal dii yolus su'um!” An odd sound like stones grinding over one another emerged from the dragon’s throat as he emerged from the cave. His eyes then locked on the two Blades that had been posted at both sides of the cave’s entrance. Esbern dove for cover behind the rocks, raising a magical ward to protect himself, but the beast set his eyes on Delphine. “Zu'u fen gunaar hin qeth, joor.”  
  
But before the dragon, whose red scales shimmered in the morning’s sunlight, could open his maw with the intent to devour the Breton, he roared in rage and reeled to his left as an arrow lodged itself stuck between his scales above his brow.  
  
“Get over here, you rotten lizard!” Ganir barked as he had another arrow knocked and ready to be fired. The dragon made to charge for the Dragonborn, but the impact of a multitude of fireballs knocked the beast’s head to the ground. Esbern had summoned two, powerful flame atronachs who barraged the dragon without fear or hesitation while Esbern focused on getting Delphine to safety.  
  
Ganir didn’t hesitate a moment and charged for the dragon, throwing the bow and arrow aside. “Fus Ro Dah!” He snarled, slamming the dragon’s head to the ground again so he could grab on to one of the dragon’s horns. The dragon wasn’t going to have it, however and threw its head up.  
  
Ganir shrieked in surprise and found himself holding on to the dragon’s horns while he lay on the beast’s forehead.  The dragon frantically began to shake its head in an attempt to throw the Dark Elf off him. Ganir’s eyes widened when the beast opened its maw. “YOL TOOR SHUL!” The searing, hot flames did not hit Ganir, but forced Esbern and Delphine to run for safety. “Ofaal vau zey, ruth fahliil ful Zu'u vis gunaar hi!”  
  
The whole scene would have looked rather preposterous if it wasn’t so precarious. A Dark Elf was clinging on to a dragon’s horns for dear life on the beast’s forehead and two Blades stood helpless. They couldn’t shoot the dragon lest they risk hitting the Dragonborn, and it was never wise to attack a dragon head-on.  
  
_Do I have to do everything myself?!_ Ganir began to kick the dragon’s head and nose, which only seemed to anger the beast more. Suddenly, it began to stop shaking its head and flailing its tail and Ganir followed the dragon’s gaze at the rocks. “Oh no. No!” But the dragon charged for the rock-formation near the cave entrance with the intent to ram its head against it and crush the Dark Elf on impact. But the plan did not work to the beast’s advantage, because Ganir was forced to leap out of the way lest he get crushed either on the rocks or under the dragon’s talons as he nearly fell off.  
  
The wind was knocked out of his lungs as the dragon ran over him, missing him by just, and though he was briefly dazed, Ganir immediately saw how vulnerable the beast now was and dug his daggers into the dragon’s belly, forcing the blades through the thick, leathery hide. The dragon roared in pure anguish as blood spurted from the wounds but no matter how he slammed its wings and tried to snap its jaws at the Dark Elf, the dragon could not reach him. _Now I have you…!_ Ganir was left dangling from the daggers buried within the beast. He knew that if he fell now, the dragon would crush him. He threw his hips up and dug his heels into the scales to hold on while he pulled one of the daggers out, burying it into the dragon’s gut again, followed shortly by the other. Now that Ganir was clearly out of danger from being shot, Esbern began slinging his spells while Delphine grabbed his bow and arrow.  
  
It was only a matter of minutes before the dragon could finally no longer muster the strength to fight back. Blood pooled from the countless stab and penetration wounds onto the burnt ground. The beast had reared onto its hind legs and staggered, stumbling before it crashed to the ground. With its final strength and breath, its golden-brown eye glared at Ganir. “Zu'u dur hi, Dovahkiin,” it spat. “Aal Alduin siiv ahrk du hi!”  
  
Ganir’s chest rose and fell as he caught his breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t speak Dragon.” Ganir plunged his dagger into the dragon’s skull and the beast’s eyes fell shut after a final gasp of pain.  
  
“That…nearly…killed us!” Esbern exclaimed, out of breath. “We nearly got burned alive, I…I-,!”  
  
Esbern’s eyes widened as the dead dragon began to catch flame and its very being was absorbed by the Dark Elf before him, who seemed rather unfazed by it. “Could’ve been worse,” he grumbled. “Last time I got impaled on a horn.”  
  
Esbern gawked, his breath taken away by the confirmation that this Dark Elf indeed was Dragonborn. Ganir walked over to the creek and washed the dragon blood off him before he took his bow back from Delphine. “Thank you. Let’s get this over with now, shall we?” In passing, Ganir snapped his neck back in place, making a nasty cracking sound.  
  
“Did you just see…that?” Esbern looked from the Dark Elf to Delphine, still amazed. “That is astounding. He truly is Dragonborn!”  
  
Delphine sighed and rolled her eyes, following the Dark Elf suit, who had made his way into the cave which now had to be safe. They found that the dragon had not only wreaked havoc on the encampment outside, but also in the cave, where some of the Forsworn had hoped to find refuge, only to be burned alive by the dragon.  
  
There was absolutely nothing left, but just when they thought they would not find Sky Haven Temple, they made their way further into a cave after finding a passage behind a thick shroud of withered hanging moss.  
  
They looked up at the raised, stone bridges and the distinct, stone ruin that lay hidden within the rock face. Kynareth had clearly reclaimed most of it as shrubs, trees and moss had weeded their way from growing in the crevices of in the stone.  
  
Esbern lit a torch and they made their way up to where three pillars stood, which no doubt shared a similar function to mechanisms found in ancient Nord burials like Bleak Falls and Ustengrav.  
“Yes. These are definitely Akaviri symbols,” Esbern said as he studied the three pillars. “Here, you have the symbol for ‘King’…” His wrinkly, old fingers tapped at one of the symbols on the left pillars. “This one over here is the symbol for ‘Warrior’…And this here…” he now tapped on the far-right pillar. “That’s the symbol for Dragon-born; an arrow-shape pointing down-ward to the bottom as though filling something. No doubt a reference to the divine ascending into a mortal shell. Can you give me a hand, Dragonborn? We should be able to lower the bridges by turning these pillars to this symbol.”  
  
Ganir nodded at Delphine to help him as well and with effort, they managed to turn the pillars to the correct symbol. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen, until a loud, creaking noise was heard. Initially they thought that the enormous, stone slabs were going to collapse on them, but thick, ancient chains held them in place as they lowered themselves, permitting for the two Blades and Dragonborn to cross and make their way up.  
  
“This is simply astounding.” Esbern was in awe of his surroundings. “It is remarkable how well-preserved it has been. Just look how these reliefs of the Akaviri are still intact…” They had made their way up that led to the Temple’s courtyard. The walls and pillars were indeed quite well-preserved, depicting a variety of historical, pivotal events in Akaviri history. Ganir wasn’t necessarily impressed or interested, but when they emerged from the tunnel to an open plaza, he was in awe of the sight before him. This definitely was the inner courtyard to Sky Haven Temple, which also had been reclaimed by nature. Thick layers of ivy coiled its way around the ancient pillars. Hanging moss dangled from the stone crevices and slabs. In the courtyard’s center lay an odd, carved seal with conduits for water? He wasn’t sure. But what really caught his eye was the carved, stone head in the back wall that stared at him with hollow, cold and unmoving eyes.  
  
After making sure nothing was trapped, Esbern made his way over to the odd seal in the center. “This is a blood seal, for certain. Another of the lost Akaviri arts. No doubt triggered by…well, blood. And look at this…” He walked over to the stone head. “You see how the ancient Blades revered Reman Cyrodiil. There is no doubt about it. This is Sky Haven Temple, built in dedication to Reman. He ended the invasion under mysterious circumstances…The entrance is most likely behind this and your blood is the key.”  
  
_Really. Blood?_ Ganir furrowed his brow. Shaking his head he knelt down at the strange seal. His eyes studied it. He really didn’t like the idea of shedding his blood as part of a ritual, but he wasn’t dealing with Daedra. The seal was made of marble and looked dirty, caked with mud or blood, he wasn’t sure. He unsheathed his dagger and ran the blade’s edge over his palm, squeezing the blood onto the seal. The blood seeped down and dripped onto the seal. Initially, nothing happened, until an odd hue emitted from his blood and the seal moved on its own accord, glowing with magical light. Ganir backed away, his dagger still at the ready, but it was just the stone that moved and showed him that it had not been blood or mud, but that the seal was actually a hidden depiction of the Dragonborn symbol. A rumble came from the back wall and the head receded into it before being raised to the ceiling of a passage that lay behind.  
  
“By Talos…” Delphine gasped in disbelief.  
  
“After you, Dragonborn.” Esbern smiled, clearly thrilled. “You should have the honor of being the first to set foot in Sky Haven Temple.”  
  
_I better enter first so you don’t set off any traps, you mean._ Ganir sheathed his blade after he wrapped a piece of cloth around his hand. _Making me shed blood…Damned Nord. I had to travel halfway to Windhelm to feed on some damn bandits to get my fill._  
  
To his surprise, there were no traps. Just darkness, but as they made their way up the steps, Esbern took his time to light the braziers and prattle away, much to his annoyance. “Amazing, you can see how the Akaviri craftsmen were beginning to embrace the more flowing, Nordic style right here.”  
  
Delphine let out an annoyed sigh. “We’re here for Alduin’s Wall, remember, Esbern?”  
  
“Yes, yes, of course.” Esbern apologized, tearing his gaze from the passage’s Akaviri writings and depictions on the wall. “We’ll have more time to look around later, I suppose. Let’s see what’s up ahead.”

When they emerged from the stairways up, they were greeted by an amazing sight. The stairways they had walked up grew wider to lead up to a central platform, splitting to the left and right in a half-circular fashion to lead to the barracks, rooms and perhaps outside. But all their eyes locked on the enormous wall in the far-back where the rays of sunlight fell as though Akatosh himself was pointing them in the right direction.  
  
“There it is…by Shor’s bones…Alduin’s Wall…” The two Blades and Dragonborn made their way over after Esbern had lit the braziers and they could discern the wall’s writing and inscriptions better. “Astounding. It is so well-preserved. I’ve never seen a finer example of early, Second Era Akaviri sculptural relief…”  
  
“I didn’t come all this way with you to get a lecture on art history, lore master.” Ganir snapped. How in the hells had Ondolemar put up with him all the way from Riften to Windhelm? “What does it say?”  
  
“I apologize, Dragonborn, I tend to get carried away.” Esbern cleared his throat. “Let’s see what we have…” Esbern squinted his eyes as he made his way to the left of the wall. The wall was a very impressive piece of work as they could clearly distinguish the depiction of three, massive dragons, who most likely represented Alduin. There were a variety of human figures, some larger, others smaller. Just what was this Wall telling them? “Look. Here is Alduin.” Esbern pointed out. “This panel goes back to the beginning of time, when Alduin and the Dragon cult ruled over Skyrim. Here, the humans rebel against their dragon overlords; the legendary Dragon War. Alduin’s defeat is the centerpiece of the Wall. You see here he is falling from the sky. The Nord tongues, the Masters of the Voice, are arrayed against him…”  
  
Ganir listened to Esbern as he spoke and pointed the fragments of the Wall out. “Does it show how they defeated him?”  
  
“Patience, Dragonborn.” Esbern chastised, mildly annoyed. “The Akaviri were not a straightforward people. Everything is shrouded in allegory and mythic symbolism…It is not read like the common word of man.”  
  
_If you take any longer, Alduin will have eaten the world twice, old man. Don’t test my patience._ But Ganir bit his tongue to the point it bled as Esbern took a closer look at the stone wall.  
  
“Yes. This here, coing from the mouths of the Nord heroes. This is the Akaviri symbol for ‘Shout’. But…there is no indication of what Shout is meant.”  
  
“You mean they used a _Shout_ to defeat Alduin?” Delphine sounded hopeful. “You’re absolutely sure?”  
  
“Oh yes.” Esbern confirmed. “Presumably something rather specific to dragons, or even Alduin himself. Remember, this is where they recorded all they knew of Alduin and his return, but like I said, they do not mention which.”  
  
Delphine swore. “So we’re looking for a Shout?” she then looked at Ganir. “Have you ever even heard of such a thing? A Shout that can knock a dragon out of the sky?”  
  
“Logically not,” Ganir scoffed. “I’d have to ask the Greybeards.”  
  
Delphine growled. “I was hoping to avoid having to involve them in this, but it seems we have no choice.”  
  
Ganir raised a brow. “And you have a problem with them because…?” Granted, they were odd, reclusive and old men, but they did not seem the harmful sort. In fact, they had been most hospitable, friendly and respectful.  
  
“If they had their way, you’d do nothing but sit up on their mountain all day and talk to the sky…or something like that.” Delphine went off a tangent. “The Greybeards are _so_ afraid of power that they won’t use it. Think about it! Have they even tried to stop the civil war? Or done anything about Alduin?”  
  
“It’s astounding how you managed to survive this long being so narrow-minded,” Ganir sneered sarcastically. “And what are your expectations of me? Do you expect me to stop this civil war?”  
  
“That’s not the point…but don’t you get it, do you?” Delphine threw her hands up in exasperation when Ganir raised a brow. “They’re _afraid_ of you. Of your power. Think of Tiber Septim! Do you think he’d have founded the Empire if he’d listened to the Greybeards? You are the _only_ one who can stop Alduin.”  
  
“And it’s what I intend to do,” Ganir said sharply. “But they have helped me a lot, so you would do well to remember that.”  
  
Delphine glared at the Dragonborn. Had she not helped him either? Had she not retrieved Esbern with Ondolemar and gotten him into the Embassy? “You best be on your way to High Hrothgar then and find out what they know about this Shout.”  
  
Ganir had already turned his back on her, however, and walked down the steps to make his way outside and ride for High Hrothgar. Little did he know that he would not receive a warm welcome.  


* * *

* * *

  
  
  


“Zu'u dur hi, dovahkiin. Aal Alduin siiv ahrk du hi”  
**(I curse you, Dragonborn. May Alduin find and devour you!)  
**  
Ofaal vau zey, ruth fahliil ful Zu'u vis gunaar hi!  
**(Get off me, damned elf, so I can crush you!)**  
  
  
Nii fon tul vorey joor gruz sul voth dinok naal dii yolus su'um  
**(It seems yet another mortal greets the day with death by my fiery breath!)**  
  
Zu'u fen gunaar hin qeth, joor  
**(I will crush your bones, mortal)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I'm on an updating spree.
> 
> I hope you're still all enjoying it. Please let me know if you still are or what you think in general. It really helps!
> 
>  
> 
> SPOILER ALERT DOWN BELOW SO BE WARNED
> 
>  
> 
> xxxx
> 
>  
> 
> xxxx
> 
>  
> 
> xxxx
> 
>  
> 
> For those wondering about a certain someone: Sovngarde awaits us all. Let me know if you think what this entails. =P


	22. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I…was not exactly expecting you to be a dragon.” Ganir apologized and quickly stowed his bow and arrow away. 
> 
>  
> 
> ((Author: Nor did I when I first played the Main Quest, but Paarthurnax forgave me for barraging him with fireballs and making a run for it.))

**Chapter 21**  
  
The enormous mountain that was host to the Greybeards’ monastery was a serene place of solitude. Nevertheless, Ganir received a crude awakening as the snow fell from the slope where he had slept below. His barrage of curses and swearing were muffled under the thick layer of snow that completely covered him.   
  
Tormagg shook his mane as though amused, snorting and scraping its hoof at the pile of snow where his master was buried below, who emerged in a most foul mood.   
“You could at least have warned me, you know…” he grumbled, shaking from the cold. He brushed the remaining snow off his shoulders and pulled a fur overcoat out the saddlebag and wrapped it around him to warm himself.It wasn’t until another hour of walking, carefully guiding Tormagg over the stone steps and around the slippery bends that they reached the monastery. He left Tormagg sheltered behind the stone wall of the stairway up to the monastery and laid the fur coat over the horse. “You keep an eye out, will you?”  
  
He then made his way into the monastery after double-checking his bag for the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. He had certainly been delayed on retrieving and returning it, but Arngeir would no doubt understand…he hoped.

But Arngeir did not.  
  
When he came inside, Ganir was greeted by the silence of the other monks, of whom he had learned the names: Borri, Wulfgar and Einarth.  
  
He found Master Arngeir kneeling in an alcove, facing the window and looking outside, where the winds howled past. “Master Arngeir, I have returned. I am sorry to have kept you waiting, but I was…delayed.”  
  
For a moment, the old Greybeard remained silent, his old hands clenched into fists. “You did not heed my teachings. You did not heed my wisdom or that of the Way...How dare you show yourself, holding his horn after your cavalier actions?”  
  
“Cavalier?” Ganir repeated questioningly. “My friends were in _danger_. What else did you expect me to do?! Sit back and do _nothing_ and let them get killed?”  
  
“The winds carry the cries of anguish, bloodshed and death you left in your wake no matter what direction you turn.” It clearly took everything for Arngeir to calmly stand up and contain his temper. “You did not save your friends. You sated your bloodlust. Have you learned _nothing_ of my teachings? You are arrogant, ignorant and I cannot help you.”  
  
Ganir wanted to be angry and argue, but knew the Greybeard was right. He didn’t have to kill the Thalmor that crossed his path in the Embassy. He could’ve knocked them out, but instead, had indulged in the desire for blood and vengeance. He hung his head in shame, shaking as a block of ice sank in his stomach. It wasn’t just guilt, but that overwhelming feeling when one knew someone had done wrong and disappointed one of their peers. To them, Ganir was a complete stranger with the promise of greatness, and he had completely disrespected and disregarded their teachings. He was tired of killing, he had said so many times, but he had done so again so easily.   
  
“Please, Master Arngeir, I am sorry.” Ganir’s voice croaked.   
  
“You are not worth the title,” said Arngeir decidedly, taking the horn from the Dark Elf’s hand. “Your very nature does not permit it. Leave, and do not return. High Hrothgar has no-,”  
  
“Arngeir!” The walls shook in a fashion unlike Ganir had ever experienced before. Master Einarth, who had been silent in meditation nearby had gotten to his feet. With each syllable spoken in the dragon’s tongue, the old man’s chest rumbled, seeming about to burst and bring the walls of the monastery down on them. “Nii los ni fah hi wah komaan. Nii los ni fah hi wah maat. Rok los Dovahkiin. Ven brud mok kolos mu dreh ni tread. Mu los wah aak. Dahmaan hin heyv.”  
  
Ganir had initially raised his arms in defense as the intense force of Einarth’s Voice resounded clear as water and loud as thunder through the monastery and perhaps even beyond.   
  
Arngeir was also visibly shaken. “I…” With a sigh, Arngeir shook his head. “You are right…” He then looked at Ganir, who looked confused and unsure of what had just happened. Einarth gave a small, knowing smile and after bowing his head to him, he returned to his meditations.  
  
_Remind me to never end up debating semantics with you…  
  
_ “Dragonborn…” Arngeir now hung his head in shame. “Please, forgive me. I was intemperate and allowed my emotions to cloud my judgement. Master Einarth is right; the decision whether to help you or not is not mine  to make. It is my duty.”  
  
“And I promise I will heed your words.” Ganir was overwhelmed with relief. Whatever Einarth had said, he owed the Greybeard! “I was wrong to ignore your teachings, Master Arngeir.”  
  
“And yet, you spoke with the Blades…did you not?” Arngeir narrowed his eyes, but not necessarily at him, but in distaste of the Blades.   
  
_Blades. Making friends in all the wrong places…_ Ganir sighed. “I have, Master Arngeir. I intend to stop Alduin.”  
  
“Of course. The Blades,” Arngeir spat, but nevertheless motioned for Ganir to follow him outside to the courtyard. “They specialize in meddling in matters they barely understand. Their reckless arrogance knows no bounds. They have always sought to turn the Dragonborn from the path of wisdom. Tell me, Dragonborn, if you wish to learn from us, why would you want to be but a simple tool in the hands of the Blades to be used for their own purposes?”  
  
“You have to believe me when I say that I share your distaste of the Blades,” Ganir cursed the cold. “I’m not their ‘puppet’ as you so eloquently put it.”  
  
“Heed my warning, Dragonborn,” Arngeir gave him a sharp look. “The Blades may say they serve the Dragonborn, but they do not. They never have…” The old Greybeard closed his eyes as the wind brushed past his wrinkled face. Snowflakes were caught in his messy, rough beard, but he did not seem to mind. “Why have you returned, if not for the horn?”  
  
Ganir told Arngeir everything without secrets. He told Arngeir about the dragons he had battled, and about Alduin, with whom he had crossed paths twice now, and how the Blades helped him find out that the Thalmor knew nothing of their return, which led him to Sky Haven Temple. “If the prophecy rings true, Master Arngeir, Alduin will destroy the world as we know it. Surely you do not want for the world to end?”  
  
“What I want is irrelevant at this point,” Arngeir said bitterly. “Have you considered that Alduin was not meant to be defeated? Those who overthrew him in ancient times only postponed the day of reckoning, but did not stop it. If the world is meant to end, then so be it. Let it end and be reborn.”  
  
“That is what you will,” Ganir countered with a sharp tone. _After all, a few more winters and you’re dead…_ “But I do not. We discovered that these ancient …Dragonborns, or whatever they were…they used a Shout to defeat Alduin. Do you know it?”  
  
“I do, but its Words of Power are not known to me for it was lost in time,” said Arngeir. “A loss I do not regret, for this Shout you refer to, ‘Dragonrend’, has no place in the Way of the Voice.”  
  
Ganir furrowed his brow. “What is so bad about Dragonrend…this Shout?”  
  
Arngeir regarded the Dark Elf in a contemplative fashion, clearly conflicted. Finally, he sighed. The Dragonborn would walk his own path and it was best wandered with whatever knowledge and wisdom he could pass on. “It was created by those who had lived under the unimaginable cruelty of Alduin’s Dragon Cult. Their whole lives were consumed with hatred for dragons, and they poured all their anger and hatred into this Shout. When you learn a Shout, you take it into your very being. In a sense, you _become_ the Shout. In order to learn and use this Shout, you would be taking this very evil into yourself. It could and _will_ consume you.”  
  
Ganir had listened to everything the Greybeard told him, but it did not change his mind. He had to stop Alduin. He had faced off against the demonic forces of Oblivion, he had survived all these years as a vampire and made his way to Skyrim. He didn’t want to carry this burden, but if he was too, he would give it his all. “If the Shout is lost, how can I defeat Alduin?”  
  
Arngeir had looked up at the top of the Throat of the World, which was shrouded from view by thick clouds and mist. _It is inevitable…_ “Only Paarthurnax, the master of our order, can answer that question, if he so chooses.”  
  
“Paarthurnax?” _Quite an odd name…  
  
_ “He is our leader,” Arngeir replied. “He surpasses us all in his mastery of the Way of the Voice., but you are not ready. Not until we greet you as Dragonborn and grant you the knowledge required to go see him at the top of the Throat of the World where he resides.”  
  
Ganir followed Arngeir back inside, wondering what he meant, but the other Greybeards rose and followed to the entry hall of the monastery. “It is time for us to formally recognize you as Dragonborn. We would Speak to you…” Arngeir pointed at the stone seal in the center of the entry-hall as the other Greybeards surrounded him. Einarth still smiled at him and nodded.  
  
The Dark Elf was hesitant but stood in the center of the room.   
  
“Prepare yourself, Dragonborn!” Arngeir said. “Few can withstand the unbridled Voice of the Greybeards, but you will emerge unscathed if you are truly ready…”  
  
_Wait…!_   
  
But the Greybeards spoke and it was as though Ganir got caught in a maelstrom of raw, but controlled power that beat down on him, shoving him in all directions, but keeping him in place all the same.  
  
Their voices united had dust crumble from the ceiling and he was fearful it was about to collapse, but High Hrothgar was strong and built to withstand, shaking with each syllable of the Greybeards’ Voices.  
  
**_“Lingrah krosis saran Strundu’ul, voth nid balaan klov praan nau! Naal Thu’umu, mu ofan nii nu, Dovahkiin, naal suleyk do Kaan, naal suleyk do Shor, ahrk naal suleyk do Atorasewuth!_** ** _Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. Dahmaan daar rok!”_**  
  
He was out of breath and he felt like he had been jostled around by a whirlwind, but Ganir found himself unharmed but shaking. The Greybeards remained silent, unmoving, but smiling.  
  
“Dovahkiin. You have tasted the Voice of the Greybeards, and passed through unscathed,” Arngeir bowed his head. “High Hrothgar is open to you and we shall teach you the Shout so you can make your way up to Paarthurnax.”  
  
Ganir followed the Greybeards outside to the upper Courtyard of the Monastery, where he had first been taught the Unrelenting Force and Whirlwind Sprint Shouts. At the time, Arngeir had not answered his question about the other gate, which did lead somewhere, whereas the other gate had been for practice.  
  
“The Skies to our leader will tear the flesh off your bones if you were to pass it without the knowledge we are about to pass on to you,” said Arngeir. “The Shout, when used, will clear the skies and show you the way.”  
  
The Greybeards stood in a row next to each other, in front of Ganir. _Here we go again…_ He braced himself when their chests began to rumble with the same, intense and primal force, which then struck him with full force, nearly sending him to the ground. “LOK VAH KOOR!”  
  
The wind ceased to howl. The snow that had already fallen to the ground was sent flying, but no more snow fell. The skies cleared and there was silence. The gates to the top of the Throat of the World, had opened.  
  
“Good luck, Dragonborn. Know that it is a privilege if Paarthurnax were to Speak with you,” Said Arngeir before he too made his way back inside the Monastery.  
  
_Lok. Vah. Koor._ Ganir’s whole being heard not the words, but the very essence of them, and knew their meaning and purpose. He walked past the gates and made his way up to the path, where a storm closed in on again. But he repeated the very three words and the storm stayed away.   
  
After two hours of stumbling and slipping over the ice as he found it hard to breathe all the way up there, even in his state of grace, he made his way to the top of the Throat of the World.  
  
The view was breathtaking as he could almost see all of Skyrim now that the skies had cleared. But he was not permitted to enjoy it for long as a roar echoed through the skies and he heard the familiar flap of enormous, leathery wings.  
  
Ganir readied his bow and arrow as a gigantic dragon dove for the mountaintop where he stood, but he did not release the arrow. This dragon was different. It was not aggressive. And even when landed, it showed no hostility and regarded the Dark Elf with curiosity.  
  
This dragon was ancient beyond the word’s meaning. Its horns were twisted, contorted and far more magnificent than any other dragon he had encountered thus far, holding a similarity to the bone crown of Alduin. Its wings were tattered, some of his horns and teeth chipped and broken. Its scales showed the scars of battles ages past. Both of the dragon’s eyes had once been a piercing blue, but one was void of an iris and pupil. Its gaze was still intense and unwavering, staring through and deep into his very being, chilling Ganir more than the icy winds that swept past him on top of this lone mountain.  
  
“Drem Yol Lok. Greetings, wunduniik.” The dragon’s voice was unique and he had not heard any like it in his life time. It was strong. Civilized. Holding the power to tear not only his flesh, but so much more, and yet, the dragon had overcome its primal nature and spoke with intelligence…no, wisdom. This had to be Paarthurnax. “What brings you to my strunmah…my mountain?”  
  
“I…was not exactly expecting you to be a dragon.” Ganir apologized and quickly stowed his bow and arrow away.   
  
“I am Paarthurnax!” said the dragon proudly. “I am as my father Akatosh made me. As are you…Dovahkiin. Tell me. Why do you come here, volaan? Why do you intrude on my meditation?”  
  
“I had no intention of intrusion, Paarthurnax,” Ganir bowed his head. “I came to you in search of aid. I seek to defeat Alduin, and I was told you perhaps know the Shout.”  
  
The Dragon craned its head so his good eye could give him a sharp look. “Drem…” His chest rumbled. “Patience…” The dragon then raised his head to look at him with both eyes. “There are formalities which must be observed at the first meeting of two of the dov. By long tradition, the elder speaks first. Hear my Thu’um! Feel it in your bones, and match it if you are Dovahkiin!”   
  
Paarthurnax then turned his head towards a wall that Ganir immediately recognized. A Word Wall, from what the Greybeards had taught him, where the ancient Dragons and their followers carved their knowledge and tales of old. Paarthurnax took a deep breath and a rumble like thunder came from his chest. When his maw opened, he roared. “YOL TOOR SHUL!”   
  
The flames that burst forth were as hot-white but double as intense as any dragon’s breath he had been a witness too. Ganir did not just feel the heat, but the very essence of the Shout. His ears pounded as the words resounded and made his blood pound and rush. He felt…alive.  
  
The flames that had engulfed the stone had been so intense that the stone had actually reached its melting point and glowed a hot red, hissing as the cold winds embraced it. Paarthurnax seemed amused by the Dark Elf’s expression. “Now, show me what you can do. Greet me not as mortal, but as dovah!”  
  
Ganir was terrified. He knew he could do it, but he wasn’t exactly eager to blow himself up or set fire to himself. But the dragon gave him a reassuring nod, at the same time inquisitive what this little mortal before him would do. As hesitant as he was, though, Ganir had paid close attention to the dragon and he did as he had done. “Yooooollllll…” He took a deep, sharp breath and felt something deep inside of him that scared him but it also felt so natural and familiar. But nothing could match the intensity of what burned deep inside of him until he could no longer contain it and as the next words left his lips, so did the flames, “TOOR SHUL!”   
  
The gout of flames that came from his mouth was brief as he was completely taken aback by its intensity and power. Paarthurnax laughed, if one could call it that. It was a most odd sound, like rocks grinding over one another.   
  
“Yes. Yes! Sossedov los mul!” Paarthurnax exclaimed with joy. His chest still rumbled with a sound comparable to a chuckle. “The dragon blood runs strong in you. It is long since I had the pleasure of speech with one of my own kind. I have long awaited your coming. Prodah.” Paarthurnax’s wings unfurled and with a leap and flap of his wings, he perched on top of the Word Wall like the parody of a bird on a branch. “I know why you are here, Dovahkiin. You would not come all this way for tiinvak with an old dovah. No. You seek your weapon against Alduin…”  
  
“The Greybeards didn’t exactly want me to come here at first,” Ganir scratched the back of his head, feeling rather awkward. _First a polite conversation with a Thalmor and now with a dragon that could eat me in one go…_ “But I need to learn the Dragonrend Shout. They do not know it, but thought that perhaps you do.”  
  
Paarthurnax mused. “Hrmm…yes. They are very protective of me. Bahlaan fahdonne…” The meaning of Paarthurnax’s native tongue completely eluded Ganir, but from what he gathered, he could guess some of their meaning. “I do not know the Thu’um you seek. Krosis. It cannot be known to me. Your kind, joorre, mortals, created it as a weapon against the dov…the dragons. Our hadrimme, our minds cannot even comprehend its concepts.”  
  
“How can I learn it then?” Ganir immediately regretted his lack of restraint and voice his thoughts and frustrations aloud, but the dragon had not given him a sharp look because of this.  
  
“Drem…” He reassured. “All in good time. First, a question for you. Why do you want to learn this Thu’um?”  
  
“To stop Alduin,” Ganir replied without a second thought. “He seeks to destroy the world…It’s rotten, I’ll admit, but if I am destined to have a say in it, then I won’t let it end…not without a fight.”  
  
“Pruzah. As good a reason as any. There are many who would share your sentiment, but not all.” The dragon’s talons scraped at the stone as he shifted. “Some would say that all things must end, so that the next can come to pass. Perhaps this world is simply the Egg of the next kalpa? Lein vokiin? Would you stop the next world from being born?”  
  
“It can wait,” Ganir said stubbornly.  
  
“Paaz. A fair answer…” Paarthurnax bared his teeth in a grin of sorts. “Ro fus! Maybe you only balance the forces that work to quicken the end of this world. Even we who ride the currents of Time cannot see past Time’s End. Wuldsetiid los tahrodiis. Those who try to hasten the end, may delay it. Those who work to delay the end, may bring it closer! But…You have indulged my weakness for speech long enough. Krosis. Now, I will answer your question.” The dragon craned its head so its unblinking eye could regard the Dark Elf once more. “Do you know _why_ I live here at the peak of the Monahven, what you name the Throat of the World?”  
  
The Dark Elf shook his head. There were countless reasons that seemed valid, but he’d rather just hear it from the dragon rather than guess.  
  
“Few now remember that this was the very spot where Alduin was defeated by the ancient Tongues. Vahrukt unslaad…Perhaps none but me now remember how he was defeated…” The dragon seemed to lament this. He could very well be the only one of his kind as ancient as he that remained. “But not in the fashion, with this Dragonrend Shout, as you think. Viik nuz ni kroon. Alduin was not truly defeated, either! If he was, you would not be here today, seeking to defeat him! The Nords of those days used the Dragonrend Shout to cripple Alduin. But this was not enough…” Paarthurnax shook his head. “Ok mulaag unslaad. It was the Kel…The Elder Scroll. They used it to cast him adrift in the currents of Time.”  
  
Ganir blinked as he registered again and again what the dragon had said. _An Elder Scroll?!_ “But…But how?!”  
  
The dragon mused, snapping its jaw in contemplation. “How to explain in your tongue…The dov have words for such things that joorre do not. It is an artifact from outside time. It does not exist, but it always has. Rah wahlaan. They are…fragments of creations. The Kelle, the Elder Scrolls, as you name them,  they have often been used for prophecy, just as yours. But this is only a small part of their power. Zofaas suleyk…”  
  
Ganir furrowed his brow as he put one and one together. “Are you saying that the Nords back then sent Alduin forward in time?”   
  
“Not intentionally. Some hoped he would be gone forever. Forever lost. Meyye. I knew better…Tiid bo amativ. Time flows ever onward,” Paarthurnax replied. “One day, he would surface. Which is why I have lived here. For thousands of mortal years have I waited. I knew _where_ he would emerge, but not when…” The dragon noticed Ganir’s confusion. “Tiid krent. Time was…shattered here because of what the ancient Nords did to Alduin. If you brought a Kel back here to the Tiid-Ahraan, the Time-Wound, you could perhaps cast yourself back in time and learn the Dragonrend Shout from those who created it.”  
  
“A perfect theory, but Elder Scrolls don’t exactly grow on trees…” Ganir released a growl of frustration. “Unless you happen to know where to find one…”  
  
“Krosis. No.” Paarthurnax shook his head, understanding the Dragonborn’s frustration. This little mortal was quite the interesting creature. So small, so frail and so broken, but so determined in spite of the odds thrown against him. “I know little of what has passed below in the long years I have lived here. You are likely better informed than I…However, I have listened closely to the path you walked, Dragonborn…This place you call home. This College where knowledge is safeguarded. Perhaps they could help you.”  
  
Ganir could smack himself for not having thought of it himself. “I thank you, Paarthurnax.” He bowed. “You have taken the time to grace me with your presence and have not just taught me, but helped me. I will return with an Elder Scroll…I hope.”  
  
The ground shook as Paarthurnax’s wing-talons hit the ground as he climbed off the Word Wall. “Trust your instincts, Dovahkiin. Your blood will show you the way,” The dragon then turned away, careful to not accidentally hit the Dark Elf with his tail. He spread his wings and looked back over to him. “Know that I will be waiting for your return.”  
  
“I shall make haste,” Ganir promised. He watched Paarthurnax take off in flight, digging the heels of his boots in the ground as the gust of wind nearly knocked him off his feet before he himself began the long trek down to the Monastery to inform Arngeir, thank him and then return to the College of Winterhold.   
  
_I swear by Azura, if no one at the College knows, then I have no idea where else to look…_  
 

 

* * *

* * *

 

**Seriously. There was** too much **Dragon speech to translate in one go.**

 

**Lingrah krosis saran Strundu’ul, voth nid balaan klov praan nau**  
(Long –in- sorrow –has- waited –the- Stormcrown, with no worthy head to rest on)  
Long has the Stormcrown languished, with no worthy brow to sit upon  
**Naal Thu’umu, mu ofan nii nu, Dovahkiin, naal suleyk do Kaan, naal suleyk do Shor, ahrk naal suleyk do Atorasewuth**  
(By our Voice we give it now –to you-, Dragonborn, by –the- power of Kyne, by –the- power of Shor, and by –the- power of Atmora-of-old)  
By our breath we bestow it now to you in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and in the name of Atmora of Old.  
**Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. Dahmaan daar rok**  
(-You have- become now Ysmir. Dragon of the North. Remember these words.)  
You are Ysmir  now, the Dragon of the North, hearken to it.  
**  
Nii los ni fah hi wah komaan. Nii los ni fah hi wah maat.** **Rok los Dovahkiin. ven brud mok kolos mu dreh ni tread. Mu los wah aak.** **Dahmaan hin heyv.**  
It is not for you to decide. It is not for you to judge. He is Dragonborn. The wnds cary him where we do not tread. We are to guide. Remember your duty.   



	23. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the plans are made to move the wheels of fate will never cease their motion but one can't always predict their direction.
> 
> Sass included.
> 
> “You’re joking, right?” Ondolemar then sighed and rubbed his temples. “Never mind, I’m dealing with two Elves of which one nearly blew up the College and the other Elenwen’s solar…”

**Chapter 22**  
  
Every single day he would curse the cold and mutter complaints under his breath about the lack of variety in the food; bread, porridge, some fruit, stew and that was about it. His Thalmor robes were still hung to dry after thoroughly scrubbing them and the ones he had been given itched so badly it drove him mad. Really, even if his life were in danger, this had to be the-…  
  
“Oh, stop being such a milk-drinker.” Faralda had overheard Ondolemar’s curses and muttered complaints over the past few days. It didn’t annoy her. In fact, she’d found it amusing. “At least Ancano had the decency to just scowl until he got used to it all.” She laughed at Ondolemar’s indignant look. “It’s not all bad in comparison to what Ganir told me about your dreadful reception in Camlorn. He wouldn’t elaborate on it, however…”  
  
Ondolemar thought he’d nearly choke on his wine. _That fucking vampire-!_   
  
Faralda had no clue as to how or what and watched her fellow High Elf try to gather his composure while she patted him on the back. “All right, calm down…I was just teasing you. Didn’t know it was _that_ bad…”   
  
“You have no idea…” Ondolemar grumbled, but decided to make a tad light of the situation rather than show how flustered he was. “But yes, I suppose it’s not all bad. Just a vast difference to the luxuries of Markarth…”  
  
“Markarth? So that’s where you were stationed?” Faralda got excited. “I’ve heard so much about Calcelmo’s research, but all our attempts to gain access or even a glimpse of his knowledge and work has been…without result, to say the least.”  
  
“Is your Arcaneum not renowned for its vast collection of literature?” Ondolemar asked with a raised brow.  
  
Faralda shook her head. “Used too. A lot of it was burned by the Lord Exarch’s men; ‘Deemed unfit’ by the ‘Dominion’s standards’ if not ‘heretical’…” Faralda looked at the students who came in or were already seated nearby. Most looked groggy or if not talking, had their noses buried in a book. “We’ve lost so much but we survived, so no point in moping. Urag’s been working day and night to clean up all of the mess. We all have been, for that matter. Life goes on, as they say.”  
  
Ondolemar listened to her as they made their way to a table in the corner. He knew they had suffered severe losses, but he had not considered the material as much. After all, he’d seen the villagers and inhabitants make repairs. And in all honesty, he had been more concerned about Ancano’s well-being. “I had no idea. And here I am complaining about…well, practically nothing.” Ondolemar gave a wry smile, stirring and poking  at his meal. “Calcelmo, however…now you’re talking about a most brilliant but awkward man…As inappropriate as the comparison may be, he guards his research and findings on the Dwemer like a dragon his hoard of gold.”  
  
Faralda waved a dismissive hand. “Hardly inappropriate. We took care of one attacking the College not too long ago. No stash of gold to be had though, sadly enough.”   
  
“Ancano has a knack for getting into, if not attracting trouble.” Ondolemar shook his head but the two High Elves shared a chuckle. “No disrespect intended towards your Arch-Mage of course, mind you.”  
   
“You speak as his friend,” Faralda smiled. As spoiled as this Justiciar was, he was pleasant company. “It wasn’t his fault, though. But I speak as a colleague when I say that as demanding and overly criticizing he can be, he makes a brilliant Arch-Mage…When he faced off against the dragon with Ganir and Ciri…I’ve never seen such control and power.” She got up after looking at the time. “You’ll have to excuse me for now, however. I have to host my first seminar for today in a few. If you’re as familiar with Calcelmo as you claim to be, I think you could really help Urag and the College out. Just…don’t touch anything when you visit his Arcaneum. He’s been rather…touchy since his ‘little plain of Oblivion’ was nearly burned to ashes.”  
  
“I will look into it. It’s the least I can do while I’m here. I look forward to hearing more about Ancano’s adventures. Thank you.” Ondolemar remained seated for the time being, watching the students come and go.   
  
Faralda was right, really. What had he to complain about? As lavish as his lifestyle in Markarth was, there had been two attempts on his life in the time he’d stayed there. A vast majority, if not all, of Markarth’s populace absolutely despised and detested him. Not without reason, though, but he didn’t really want to think about it.   
  
As for  the College, its inhabitants weren’t all bad. Granted, they were apprehensive and kept their distance, but when approached they were friendly and courteous. This most likely had more to do because they trusted Ganir and Ancano’s judgement as to who they let on the College grounds but it was a welcome change either way. There had been a multitude of attempts on his life during his stay in Markarth and if he was on patrols, he was shot foul looks and muttered curses and threats. Here, he received no such treatment. _Figures why Ancano likes it here,_ he thought. _He’s safe and he has plenty of knowledge at his disposal…or what remains of it.  
  
_ It’d be a while, but eventually Ancano would return to his snarky, old self. Right now, he was just a tad more… ‘ice-brained’ as some Nords called it. _No point in brooding over that. I might as well make myself useful._ The Justiciar got up and made his way over to the Arcaneum. When he arrived, he indeed found that the countless shelves and bookcases were stained with black soot, covered in ash, dirt and that a lot of them lay empty.  
  
He wasn’t a huge bookworm himself, but it was a sad sight.  
   
“Are you just going to stand and gawk there while your filthy boots muck up my Arcaneum even more, or…” The Orc’s grouchy countenance changed when he saw it was the Justiciar. “My apologies. You are the Arch-Mage and Dragonborn’s guest, are you not? Mistook you for an apprentice.”  
  
“Yes, I am.” Ondolemar replied.  
  
“Name’s Urag gro-Shub.” The old Orc couldn’t help but grin. The moment they shook hands, the Orc couldn’t help himself but make sure his grip was as firm as they came and he caught the High Elf wincing. _Elves…Never as tough as they try to look._ “Never thought I’d see the day I’d welcome a Justiciar to my Arcaneum, but from what I understood, you’re the good sort.”  
  
“Please, just call me ‘Ondolemar’. Due recent events I feel…inadequate at the mention of my association with the Thalmor, as you can no doubt understand…” Ondolemar scraped his throat. “After a chat with Faralda, I had to see the Arcaneum myself. Given the state of affairs and how I have been welcomed, I’d be happy to help while I’m here. No doubt you have your connections and means, but so do I, to fill those empty shelves with books again.”  
  
“Really?” The Orc unfolded the arms from his chest. _If he’s genuine, maybe he’s really not all that bad…for an Elf._ “Well, as you can see, there’s not much left of it, but I managed to salvage some of it, and some of the most valuable I had secured elsewhere, but still…If you can help, I’ll be happy to accept it. You seem competent enough at the very least.”  
  
It didn’t take Ondolemar long to learn that Urag’s grouchy demeanor was ‘the nature of the beast’ and he meant nothing personal with it. The Orc watched him like a hawk and kept his responses curt at first, but Urag warmed up fast enough once he realized his company was most competent and not condescending. Ondolemar, on the other hand, had to admit he was impressed to discover that Urag was very well-read and schooled on a variety of subjects, varying from common to arcane history, its teachings, theories and the art of debate. After a while, they forfeited trying to clean up and took a seat to talk while drinking wine.  
   
The both of them looked up when they heard the door open and Urag muttered something about a nosy, useless apprentice. It was Ganir, however, who made his way in and carried a rather large bag he had swung over his shoulder. “Dragonborn or not, Ganir, you know the rules…” Urag’s large, bushy brows knitted together, initially set on the mud-stained boots the Dark Elf wore, but then he looked at the large bag he carried. “What’s in there?”  
   
“Nice to see you too, Urag. Got you something that should cover the expenses to rebuild the Arcaneum’s collection.” Ganir put the bag on the table and glanced at the High Elf, whose cheeks held a glow. _No doubt thanks to the wine…_ “Trust me when I say that the Forsworn were the least of my concerns when we made it to the Reach…”  
  
“Malacath’s balls…Dragon horns and teeth?!” Urag’s eyes went wide when he peered inside the bag. “Thank you, Ganir. This should _definitely_ take care of the finances…”  
  
“A dragon’s horns and teeth…?” Ondolemar’s eyes went wide. “Let me see, please!” Ondolemar removed his gloves and took one of the horns from Urag. Awed, the High Elf ran his fingers over the horn. This was definitely not the ivory of a mammoth’s tusk, but weighed as much. He was holding a real dragon’s horn…As lethal as this beast must have been when alive, it had to be magnificent all the same. “I found it hard to believe the rumors of dragons returning…but this is irrefutable proof…”  
   
“Well, the dragon came as quite a surprise. We were counting on the Forsworn when we made it to the temple’s alleged location. Instead, we found the camp laid to waste by the dragon, who’d made himself comfortable and cozy in the nearby cave after killing the survivors inside. Quite a close call because the damn lizard nearly burned me to a crisp…” Ganir scratched the back of his head, grinning awkwardly. “But we’ve learned a lot. Found Sky Haven Temple. Hence why I came back here.”   
  
“Really?” Ondolemar looked up at the Dark Elf, genuinely impressed. Whether the Dark Elf had help from the Blades or not, he’d killed a dragon. “Markarth may be made of stone and steel, but it’s still a good thing to know it’s dead. What is beyond me, however, is how that temple was never found before. Do tell me more. What did you find?”  
   
“I’d be glad to tell you all about it, but it’s best to inform Ancano as well.” Ganir replied. “I’m assuming he’s visiting Ciri…?”  
  
“You assume right.” Ondolemar replied. “I’ll go inform him. He doesn’t mind my…presence as much.”  
  
The first time Ondolemar had made his way to the labyrinth where Cirilonde Valanocke was laid to rest, he’d found no words to utter. Frozen flowers guided the path to where she was. When he finally came to the room, he found Ancano standing at her side. It was a morbid observation that could not go unnoticed. The freezing cold preserved her body without flaw and it looked as though she was asleep. Ancano’s expression betrayed nothing to a stranger, but Ondolemar could tell. He had watched how his friend’s thumb lovingly stroked the back of Cirilonde’s hand, treating her with a tenderness he’d never seen. The glimmer in the Ancano’s eyes said everything without words. He had loved her and Ondolemar understood why his friend preferred to pour all his attention into whatever study he could to drown out the grief.   
   
When Ganir and Ondolemar met eyes,  they gave each other an understanding nod. “You go on ahead, I’ll need Urag’s help first,” Ganir said.  
  
“Very well.” Ondolemar bowed his head at Urag. “’twas a pleasure, Master Urag. I’ll be sure to contact Calcelmo and see what titles I can obtain for you. Meet you later, Ganir.”  
   
“Thank you. Appreciated.” Ganir couldn’t exactly pinpoint what the Orc was thinking, who turned to him when Ondolemar was gone. “I’m going to be honest here, Ganir. I wanted to pummel the sense back into your head when you suggested Ancano take up the position of Arch-Mage. Even more so when you told us about the Justiciar, but…it’s worked out and this Ondolemar isn’t too bad.”  
   
“Trust me, I still have to come to terms with it all.” Ganir couldn’t help but grin. “Keep in mind, it wasn’t all that long ago I could strangle Ancano. But enough for gossip now. I have a problem and you were the first person to come to mind. Do you have any books, or do you know anything about Elder Scrolls?”  
  
“Elder Scrolls?” Urag raised one of his bushy eyebrows. “Depends on what you want to know…or how I’d even explain it to you, for that matter.”  
  
“To keep a long story short, I need to find one and use it.” Ganir replied with an almost child-like simplicity in his tone.  
   
The Orc’s eyes darkened, glowering at the Dark Elf. The tips of his clawed fingers rubbed his brow. “Should’ve expected an answer like that…” He then crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you even know what you’re _really_ asking for or about?”  
   
“That’s why I’m here.” Ganir scratched the back of his head. “No matter how I twist or turn it, I need to find an Elder Scroll. I didn’t want to pursue it head-first without preparation and knowing how, what, where or why.”   
   
“I’m not sure if I even want to know the how, what, where or why,” Urag sighed. “But very well. I’ll see if I can find anything. You best go see Ancano, but be warned, he’s not been the best company since…”  
  
“As is to be expected.” Ganir gave the Orc a sharp look. Not everyone knew _exactly_ what had all happened or what was going on precisely, but Ganir saw no need for them to know everything. Ancano had suffered enough and he didn’t need feigned pity or sympathy. And Cirilonde had seen some good in him. Least he could do is take good care of him where possible. “I’ll leave you to it. Thank you.”  
   
Ganir left the Arcaneum and made his way up to the Arch-Mage’s Quarters where the Altmer no doubt were waiting by now. When he saw Ancano, however, he couldn’t help but let out an annoyed growl. “Have you even slept since I left?”   
  
Ancano didn’t look as dreadful as he had a week ago. All thanks to Ondolemar, though, who had relentlessly badgered his friend to at least eat properly lest he ram it down his throat.  
   
“I don’t see how this is any of your concern.” Ancano snapped. “Ondolemar told me you found Sky Haven Temple and learned something?”  
   
“Correct.” Ganir confirmed. “We found Alduin’s Wall in the temple, like Esbern had said. It spoke of a Shout that the ancient Nords used to…banish Alduin, of sorts, but not _what_ kind of Shout. I met with the Greybeards’ leader, Paarthurnax. He explained me that the Shout they used was called Dragonrend. It didn’t defeat Alduin, though, because the ancient Nords made a _huge_ mistake, which is why we’re dealing with him now. They used an Elder Scroll to cast him adrift in the flow of time, hoping he would be lost forever…”

Ganir’s fingers toyed with the golden earring that pierced his long, slender ear. “I don’t even know how to really explain all of this. When Paarthurnax told me, it all made sense. But Alduin’s banishment caused a sort rift…a Time-Wound, he called it, on the top of the Throat of the World. Though the Shout itself is ‘lost’ to the common means, if I were to obtain an Elder Scrolls, I could perhaps access the Time-Wound and learn the Shout.”  
   
Ancano drummed the tips of his long, slender fingers against one another as he contemplated Ganir’s words for a moment. Finally, he got up and paced back and forth as he spoke, “I took the liberty of delving into this whole…’legend’. Call it what you will. As ridiculous and incredible as it is, I don’t doubt your word. I just hope you’re aware of what you’re implying…

“Even if you were to obtain this…’Shout’ by tampering with this most ancient Time-Wound, are you even aware of the potential consequences of tampering with said phenomenon or the very nature of your enemy?” Ancano’s eyes locked on Ganir’s for a moment. “I have little inclination to take the common drunken Nord tales to heart, but considering…recent events,” The High Elf looked away with a contemplative expression, “and the facts we’ve gathered by now, it would be plain dense to ignore that Alduin is the ‘World-Eater’ and ‘Firstborn of Akatosh’. I just wonder if he can even truly be killed?”  
   
The Arch-Mage’s lips curled into a most satisfied smirk as Ganir couldn’t hide how impressed he was with the High Elf. _That explains the lack of sleep, most likely…_ “Quite simple,” Ganir said matter-of-factly. “These ancient Nords weren’t Dragonborn. In any case, if we don’t at least try to stop Alduin, it will mean the end of the world. Risking a Dragon Break is honestly the last and least of our concerns.”  
   
“You’re joking, right?” Ondolemar then sighed and rubbed his temples. “Never mind, I’m dealing with two Elves of which one nearly blew up the College and the other Elenwen’s solar…”  
  
“Very funny…” Ancano and Ganir chimed, glaring at Ondolemar.  
  
“There is one problem, however,” Ancano said to Ganir. “Where or how exactly do you intend to find an Elder Scroll and obtain it?”  
   
“Well, I’ve asked Urag for help,” Ganir said. “Though the Arcaneum suffered great losses, he assured me that no doubt, he had some books on the subject that could help us.”  
  
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. “It’s Urag. Got what you need like-,”  
  
“Just get in,” Ancano snapped.  
   
They’d expected the Orc to come carrying a pile of books but only had one with him. “Don’t give me that look. I had more, but then I came across this work. I think you’ll find it rather insightful, and the author is actually still alive…”  
  
Ganir took the book from Urag. “Ruminations on the Elder Scrolls…Septimus Signus.”  
  
“He’s a bit…eccentric, even by ‘our’ standards,” Urag said, “but the most knowledgeable man alive to date in regards to the Dwemer and Elder Scrolls alongside Calcelmo…Come to think of it. Sep wrote me not too long ago and mentioned he wanted to drop by as he was working on something north of here. Probably some expedition.”

“Isn’t there nothing but islets and icecaps up north?” Ganir asked.  
  
“I wouldn’t know. I’m not exactly the travelling sort,” Urag shrugged. “Make no mistake, though. The towers of Dwemer ruins spiral to the surface but the rest is always hidden underground. It wouldn’t surprise me if Septimus is on the trail of one that was swallowed by the Great Collapse.”  
  
Ganir put the book on the desk in case the  two Elves wanted to have a gander at it. “I best go look for him. He’s our best and only lead.”  
   
“I recommend against venturing out there on your own, Dragonborn or not,” Urag said. “The icecaps are treacherous, as is the sea.”  
  
“And in all due respect,” Ondolemar quipped, “this fellow sounds barking mad…” He initially had taken a casual gander at the book’s contents, but then read it over and over, trying to make sense of it.  
  
“I’ll be fine,” Ganir said. “Unless you’re eager for some _really_ fresh air.”  
  
“In all honesty, please go with him Ondolemar,” Ancano said. “I’d like to not be badgered every hour by you for a change.”   
“Arch-prick,” Ondolemar muttered under his breath as the two elves and Orc left the tower and made their way down. “If I didn’t pester him to eat properly he would bloody well forget too because his nose is permanently buried in whatever book he can lay his hands on if he’s not tampering with the Staff of Magnus in an attempt to fix it!” The Justiciar let out a frustrated sigh.  
  
“I just consider it his way of being affectionate,” Ganir cocked his head to the side. “I won’t make you come along, however. It _is_ pretty risky.”  
  
“Well…” Ondolemar wrapped his Thalmor over-cloak tighter about him. “To be fair I’ve not really been on an ‘adventure’ for some time. As long as there’s no sewers involved, I wouldn’t mind coming along. Let me get my ‘proper’ robes.”  
  
Ganir needn’t prepare, but he waited for Ondolemar to change into his Thalmor robes and then set out towards the north. Urag had told them about the possible location where Septimus would be, but warned them that the Imperial no doubt worked alone and if found, could be paranoid.  
  
The two elves reached the coast on horseback and dismounted to look at the icecaps. The water had calmed for the tide, which was good as it gave them the time to cross safely. Going by boat was definitely not an option, which was supported by the shipwrecks and remains washed ashore by the waves.  
  
“Stay close,” Ganir said. “And let me go first…”   
  
Their boots had been treated proper enough so they could feel the cold brush against the leather, but whereas the cold didn’t bother Ganir, Ondolemar cursed himself for coming along. _Gods be damned this water is beyond freezing!  
  
_ It wasn’t long before his teeth were chattering but he pushed on, using spells to dry his attire whenever they came ashore to ensure he wouldn’t suffer from hypothermia. For a moment, they thought that their search would be without result, when Ondolemar spotted lights in the distance on an island. When they came close, they found a boat tied to an iron pin in the rocks and torches at the entrance to the cave, where a crude, make-shift hatch had been placed over made out of wreckage wood.   
  
“Could be the place…” Ganir said as he lift the hatch. “Let me go in first.”  
  
“Gladly.” Ondolemar was capable of defending himself, but he was all too familiar with a mage’s wrath after one interruption too many and he’d rather not suffer the brunt of it.  
   
The cave had naturally formed over the course of many decades, hewn from rock and ice by the wind, waves and sleet. Ganir’s steps were silent in the snow and Ondolemar cautiously followed the vampire a few steps behind, but their careful steps weren’t needed for long because the cavern didn’t go deep. This probably had to do with the fact that most of the space was taken by an enormous Dwemer-steel cube in the wall. An old man clad in thick, blue fur-and-wool robes stood near, studying the object closely.  
   
His coarse beard and moustache were unkempt and it was clear he had scorched it a variety of times. As normal as he appeared, there was a most odd look in his eyes; knowing, but so far away as if in another world. If he had noticed the two elves, he had made no effort to acknowledge them, if he was even ‘here’…  
  
Suddenly, the Imperial let out a roar of  frustration and startled the two Elves. Ganir instinctively reached for his dagger. “Dig, Dwemer, in the beyond! I’ll know your lost unknown and rise to you!” To emphasize his point, the old man made the mistake of kicking against the cube. A loud, dull CLANG was heard, indicating the cube was most likely hollow, but this was drowned out by the shriek of pain that followed suit after the Imperial had kicked it.  
  
Ondolemar twirled his index finger near his temple with the roll of his eyes but Ganir shrugged. He signaled for the High Elf to stay back while he approached the rambling old man who was rummaging through his notes filled with insane scrawling.  
   
“Quill...Quill. Quill! Ink to draw the lines on the planes…” The old man took the quill he was handed by Ganir without much thought, but when he realized he was not alone, he spun around. His eyes were wide and shot from Ganir to Ondolemar. “Who are you and what do you want?”  
  
“Don’t worry, we mean you no harm.” Ganir reassured him. “Are you Septimus Signus? Urag gro-Shub told me that he knows a lot about Elder Scrolls and we’re looking for him.”  
   
“Ahhh, good old Urag…But yes, I’m Septimus Signus. But the Elder Scrolls you say? Ahh, yes…yes.” As jovial as he was, Septimus’ eyes held an insane glitter. “Elder Scrolls. Indeed. The Empire…They absconded with them. Or so they think! The ones they saw. The ones they _thought_ they saw.” Septimus paced back and forth as he spoke, gesturing frantically as if he were addressing an audience, before he spun on his heel once more, only an inch away from Ganir’s face. “I know of one…” The grin on his face unnerved Ganir, which was saying something… “Forgotten. Sequestered…But I cannot go to it! Not poor Septimus, for I…I have arisen beyond its grasp….”=  
  
Ganir scraped his throat, unsure of how ‘stable’ this man was. “So…where is this Scroll?”   
  
“Here!” Septimus said as if it were the most obvious thing in sight, but they saw nothing, looking confused. “Well…Here as in this plane. Mundus. Tamriel. Nearby, relatively speaking…” Septimus laughed. “On the cosmological scale, it is _all_ nearby…”  
  
“Can you help us find the scroll or not?” Ondolemar snapped. More out of discomfort than anything else.   
  
“One block lifts another,” Septimus said sagely. “So you must bring me something in return.”  
  
“Of course,” Ganir sighed and rolled his eyes. “What do you want?”  
  
“Behold!” Septimus raised his hand in gesture at the huge, Dwemer-steel cube with a variety of engravings and … lenses? Divines knew what purpose it served, but Septimus acted as though he had just revealed something grand they had not seen. “You see this master work of the Dwemer. Deep inside their greatest knowings. I am clever amongst men, but  an idiot child compared to the dullest of the Dwemer. Lucky then they left behind their own way of reading the Elder Scrolls. In the depths of Blackreach one yet lies! Have you heard of Blackreach? ‘Cast upon where Dwemer cities slept, the yearning spire hidden learnings kept’?”  
  
Ganir’s fingers toyed with his earring. “Yes. Of course. How do I get there again?”  
  
“Under deep. Below the dark…The hidden keep. Tower Mzark. Alftand. The point of puncture, of first entry, of the tapping. Delve to its limits, and Blackreach lies just beyond. But not all can enter there. Oh no…Only I, Septimus, know of the hidden key to lose the lock to jump beneath the deathly rock…”  
  
Ganir and Ondolemar exchanged looks. “You mention a lock? How do I get in?”  
  
“Two things, I have for you…” Septimus rummaged about in a chest near his desk and retrieved two odd, Dwemer objects, or maybe ‘artefacts’ was a more proper term. He handed them to Ganir as though they were precious presents with a child-like excitement. “One edged. One round. The round one, for tuning. Dwemer music is soft and subtle and needed to open their cleverest gates. The edged lexicon…” He tapped on the cube with lenses and odd inscriptions. “…for inscribing. To us, a hunk of metal. To the Dwemer, a full library of knowings, but currently empty. Find Mzark and its sky-dome. The machinations there will read he Scroll and lay the lore upon the cube. Trust Septimus. He knows…” Ganir growled when the old Imperial prodded his chest, “you can know…Now!” Ganir jumped back when Septimus’ finger shot up with such speed it was nearly shoved up Ganir’s nostril. “Now…Shoo. I must listen…the Dwemer speak but make no sound…”  
  
“Thank you…I guess.” Ganir said, but Septimus’ mind was far off again and the two Elves were most happy to leave.   
  
Ondolemar heaved a sigh of relief once they were outside. “Glad we made it out of there without a scuffle.”  
  
“Understatement,” Ganir snorted. “But you’re from Markarth, and you mentioned you know Calcelmo, right?”  
   
Ondolemar scowled. “As if that craggy, wretch of a city would deserve to be graced with such an honor. I’m merely stationed there…well, was…” He ran his hand over his scalp and sighed when Ganir looked confused by the sudden anger and bitterness in his tone. “Let’s just get back to the College. I’m freezing.”  
  
“We’ll talk there.” Ganir then gave a smile. “Bet they can hear your teeth chattering from here at the College.”  
  
“I’m looking forward to a warm bath and fire when we get back,” Ondolemar grumbled. “I hate to sound like I’m only good at complaining but gods be _damned_ it’s cold.”  
  
“Well, like I said, it takes some time getting used to it.” Ganir admitted and made a note to see if he had anything to make sure the Justiciar wouldn’t end up freezing to death during his stay here once they got back.  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> Thank you for taking your time to read this chapter. Leave a kudo or comment if you enjoyed it. 
> 
> Have a nice read and day!
> 
> Regards,  
> NLM


	24. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing builds a friendship like a near-death experience while chased by evil underground elves that didn't make Santa's selection.

**Chapter 23**  
  
It had taken Ancano and Ondolemar many hours, but a few days after Ondolemar had sent Calcelmo of Markarth a coded letter, they received a likewise, coded package that took them some days to deciper. It contained all the information they needed. After cross-referencing the coordinates to a map, they found that Alftand lay two hours away South South-West from Saarthal in the tundra.  
  
Anticipating a heavy trek, they had gone on foot, which proved to be wise as it wasn’t long before the snow reached their waists. Ganir voiced to Ondolemar how he had found it strange as no snow had fallen for a few days, but they found the reason as to why soon enough as they scanned the surroundings and horizon for any sign of a Dwemer ruin. Had they not possessed such keen eyes, they would’ve walked straight past the bronze dome atop the Dwemer stone, carved tower which was surrounded by the remains of an encampment which had been destroyed by an avalanche. All that remained standing was the tower, partially covered by snow, which was inaccessible from the outside as it was locked by yet to be determined means. They found a chest nearby with tools, supplies and a journal.  
  
It appeared they were not the only ones intent to find Blackreach as the journal belonged to one of the Synod; a certain Sulla Trebatius. What they first thought to be fragments of splintered wood turned out to be a walkway that led into an icy tunnel where they made yet another gruesome discovery. Blood was spattered all over the walls and the bedrolls. Tools lay bloodied on the floor and crates lay shattered and broken everywhere. As unnerving as the scene was, it was the lack of bodies that disturbed them the most.  
   
“Something attacked them...” Ganir had taken a gander at the bloodstains and found an odd-shaped arrow embedded into a supporting pillar. He had never seen such a cruel, crude projectile. Normal arrows consisted of one arrowhead made of chitin, steel, moonstone and in the rarest cases glass, ebony or even Daedric. But this arrow, while also made of chitin, had not one, but two pincer-like tips on the arrowhead that would dig itself into one’s flesh, capable of piercing armor, and if one were even able to survive the poison somehow, it would prove particularly, if not impossible, to remove it without causing more injury. “Just look at this.”  
   
Ondolemar took the arrow from him and whistled, “It doesn’t come as a surprise to find that there’s Falmer lurking about here. It would explain the gruesome scene. They’re very territorial. I had to deal with one that had snuck into Calcelmo’s museum.”   
  
“They seem like a nasty lot. Cirilonde told me about the fate that befell the Synod in Mzulft. They didn’t stand a chance…” Ganir’s senses peaked as he tried to listen if he could detect any life nearby, but it seemed they were alone for now. “Did I tell you about that?” He rubbed some of the smeared blood between the tips of his fingers and smelled it. _Poison…_  
   
The High Elf shook his head. “No. Nor was I aware the Synod’s presence was so prominent in Skyrim.” Judging by his tone, Ondolemar didn’t hold them in high regard.  
   
Ganir couldn’t help but chuckle. “Savos quite fittingly compared them to cliff racers. They and the College of Whispers have been trying their hardest to gain some ‘cooperation’ of sorts with the College, who intends to remain neutral. Hence why the Synod are probably here to try and take whatever they can find from Skyrim to lobby for favor and influence with the Elder Council. They found an ancient Oculary in Mzulft; a Dwemer Ruin near Windhelm that could detect artefacts of great power. Cirilonde went there in search for information on the Staff of Magnus at the time, but found the expedition butchered by the Falmer…” As Ganir told Ondolemar everything, he rummaged through the belongings while Ondolemar skimmed the contents of the journal to find more information or clues. “Only one person survived, Decimius, who had locked himself away in the Oculary. When he realized who she was, he accused her of the intention to sabotage his work and take the knowledge for herself. Because he was too much of a liability, Cirilonde killed him and she destroyed the Oculary, for it had not only detected the Eye’s presence, but also that of the Staff.”  
  
Ondolemar shuddered to think what would have happened if it had not been Ancano, but a desperate member of the Elder Council that got their hands on either the Eye or the Staff. “It seems these Synod were so blinded by the promise of something powerful hidden away here they completely ignored the dangers that lie within the Dwemer ruins of Skyrim…Idiots.”

“Saves that we’re both prepared and experienced,” Ganir said. “I’ve delved into plenty of Dwemer ruins back in Morrowind.”  
  
“Let’s go then. Best not to linger in any case.” Ondolemar gave a curt nod for Ganir to take the lead, which was probably safer. While the High Elf had cast a spell that enabled him to see in the dark, he trusted the Dark Elf vampire’s enhanced senses more.  
   
They walked down the winding, frozen tunnel, supported by wooden beams. Slowly but surely, the ice grew thinner and the beams made place for solid, stone and carved walls of a Dwemer ruin that had to be part of Alftand, or lead there. This alone wasn’t an assurance, but they also welcomed the warmth that emanated from the massive pipes overhead which were secured with steel bolts and beams.  
   
“Where is it?!” The sudden exclamation had both elves stop dead in their tracks.   
  
Ondolemar was so startled he gripped his chest and swore under his breath, which was muffled by Ganir who put a gloved hand over his mouth, grabbed him and pushed the both of them against the wall. “Quiet.” Ganir whispered as the both of them heard the distinct pitter-patter of clawed feet coming closer.  
   
“I know you’re trying to keep it for yourself J’Zharr! You always try to keep it for yourself!” The tunnel they had come from led to a dim-lit, stone hall. The hum of the steam-powered cylinders and the lanterns was the only sound heard. Peering past the pillar, they saw a mangy, emaciated Khajiit walk around. He looked jittery and crazed, holding a bloodied axe in his shaking claws. He seemed to be looking for something…or someone. “Just a little bit for J’Darr, brother. Why you do this to me?” The Khajiit whined.   
  
Though the Khajiit’s presence was disturbing, Ondolemar’s attention was held by the vampire whose hand lingered on his neck while another arm was wrapped around his waist to hold him in place. As lithe and athletic as he was, the Dark Elf was incredibly strong and he smelled of leather, the wilds and blood.  
   
The High Elf shifted to have a gander himself, but the Dark Elf held him in place and released a soft growl in warning, which made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. A shudder ran down his spine as they remained in this rather awkward position, but he felt strangely comfortable. He wasn’t sure what was going on in Ganir’s mind at the moment as he watched the Khajiit like a hawk that wandered off after a few, tense minutes. When Ondolemar made to pull away, Ganir still held him in place. “Wait a moment…” After a short while, when Ganir was sure the Khajiit was gone, he let go of Ondolemar. “Sorry about that, but I’d rather not deal with a skooma-crazed Khajiit. They’re very dangerous and unpredictable.”  
   
“I wonder how he even managed to survive given the state he’s in.” Ondolemar and Ganir carefully made their way into the hall, which led from the tunnel they had come from into another as the solid, steel gate which showed no indication it could be opened.   
  
Near this gate, stood two, stone tables littered with soul gems, Dwemer steel plates and other odd ornaments that Ondolemar identified to be ‘gyros’ and ‘dynamos’. Ondolemar grabbed a pile of papers and scanned the contents. “Seems that whoever this Sulla Trebatius and Umani are, they were spotted by a Falmer scout that returned with his ‘friends’ to ambush them. The Khajiit must be the sole survivor, driven mad by the deprivation of skooma and horrors he witnessed…”  
   
“Very likely.” Ganir peered into the darkness beyond the gates but didn’t see or hear anything of interest. “We best be careful to not be caught off-guard by them or the Khajiit.”   
  
They followed the Khajiit’s footsteps into the other tunnel and found it had partially collapsed due the recent avalanche. The Synod weren’t to be deterred and had dug their way through to emerge in another part of the ruin; a sloped hallway leading upwards lit by a single torch that lay on the ground next to a puddle of blood.  
   
They had barely come closer to it when they heard the racket of iron clashing with stone and something heavy, followed by a blood-curdling howl. “AAIIIIEEE! No! No! Leave J’Darr alone!” They heard the Khajiit screech and wail while his claws obviously dug into the stone floor in an attempt to get away while guttural snarls and hissing noises came from other, yet to be identified beings, but Ondolemar and Ganir both were quite certain it were Falmer.  
  
Ondolemar didn’t hesitate a second and kicked the torch into the puddle, dousing the flame before pressing himself against the wall next to Ganir. Aside from the darkness, the stone and steel pillars would hide them, should they come. “Whatever you do, be completely silent…” Ondolemar spoke as soft as he could, barely hearing himself over the pounding of his heart. “Falmer are blind, but they can hear a pin drop into the snow from many yards away.”  
  
“Stay close then.” Ganir led the way and they snuck their way up, crossing over to hug the other wall and peek around the corner where they saw the Khajiit crawling over the floor at the far end. Patches of his fur had been torn if not stained with blood and he was missing an eye. Suddenly, a wicked, hunched over shadow crept from around the corner behind him and with a hiss, dug its wicked claws into the Khajiit’s ankle, who yowled in panic and defiance. With his last strength, he lashed out with his claws, but missed. The Falmer, now visible, raised a blunt, heavy-looking weapon, as jagged as the arrow and hit the Khajiit over his head. The sickening sound of his victim’s skull cracking was a sure sign the Khajiit was good as dead.  
  
They couldn’t be even called savage degenerates. Over the course of many centuries, the Falmer had devolved into feral, wicked and merciless beasts whose beady, black eyes showed no emotion. When standing up right, they had to be about as tall as Ganir or Ondolemar, but years of living in the dark and underground, had devolved their stance into a hunched over one. Their skin was pale and leathery. Their faces were ugly, lacking a nose and their jagged teeth bared. Their fingers were bony, long and clawed.  
  
After hitting the Khajiit over the head again to make sure it was dead, the Falmer peered around, but not to see. It was sure it had heard something, and Ondolemar held its breath until the wicked creature finally grabbed hold of the Khajiit’s tail and dragged it off into the darkness.  
  
“The worst kind of vermin.” Ondolemar swallowed the bile back.   
  
Ganir shot him a look, wondering what was going on in the High Elf’s mind. He knew that as a Commanding officer of the Thalmor Justiciars in Skyrim, he wasn’t a saint either, but decided now was not the time to put this up for discussion. “I really recommend we avoid them as best we can.”  
  
“Don’t underestimate them.” Ondolemar said sternly. “As mindless and wicked as they look, they possess a vindictive cunning.”  
  
The Dark Elf nodded, but wasn’t looking at him, nor at anything in particular. He inclined his head like a dog would and it was clear he was listening closely. “Six…no. Eight. Still close, but on the move.”  
  
The Dark Elf signaled for Ondolemar to follow him and he noticed that Ganir moved without a sound as they snuck up another broad stairway where a heavy, steel door stood ajar. They both hugged the wall on each side of the door and peered in, but saw nothing as the corridor ahead was coated in a thick mist or steam which reeked, mixed with the stench of oil. Ondolemar’s gloved fingers traced the crude inscription on the door which indicated where they were headed, but he couldn’t translate it. When Ganir gave him a nod, he gave the door a shove and with a loud creak it opened further. The High Elf was forced to pull the collar of his robes over his mouth and nose as a foul stench poured forth from the corridor, which was completely shrouded by the stinking gas. One of the pipes or machines had to be leaking to cause such a severe pollution.  
   
“You need to scout ahead,” he told Ganir. “If there’s a quick way out, I could rush through and hold my breath.”   
  
The Dark Elf slipped in without a word of confirmation but found the cause of the leak quick enough. All his senses peaked to alert as he carefully approached the oddly-shaped silhouette leaning against the pipes that were bolted to the wall. Upon closer inspection, it wasn’t a human, but the remains of a broken Sphere Centurion.   
  
The Dwemer, or Dwarves in the common tongue, were a most intelligent and skilled people, whose advanced engineering skills permitted them to craft steam and magical-powered creations to guard their halls or do manual labor. These ‘Sphere Centurions’ propelled themselves forward on hollow, metal discs, connecting their ‘legs’ to a steel torso and head, resembling a humanoid armed with a shield and blade of which the sole purpose was to defend what they were tasked to guard.  
  
This one had clearly served its purpose until the Falmer got to it, tearing its head off when the jagged, chitin axe buried in its back didn’t prove to be enough, hitting the pipes in the process, which caused the polluting leak.  
  
_There has to be a valve of some sort nearby…_ But when he made it to the end of the corridor, he didn’t find anything the sort, but also that the door at the end was barred or locked from the other side and his heart sank with a dreadful realization. He had barely spun around when he heard Ondolemar get caught in a skirmish before he broke away and barged into the polluted room, followed by a group of angry, snarling Falmer.   
  
“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Ganir frantically kicked, pulled and shoved against the door before he took a sharp breath. The gas burned his lungs but he had no choice but to try. “FUS ROH DAH”   
  
The unrelenting force of his Shout blasted the doors off their hinges, causing the Falmer to clutch their ears as the loud clatter of steel rung in their ears and stunned them. Ondolemar ran past him and Ganir followed suit, coughing and wheezing. The High Elf shoved the Dark Elf behind him and flames lit up in the palms of his hands.  
  
“What are you doing?!” Ganir exclaimed. “Run!”   
  
But the High Elf didn’t listen and he sent a ball of flame flying towards the Falmer. The moment the fire connected with the fumes, it all caught flame and the Falmer shrieked, howled and wailed in anguish as they were burned alive. Their brief victory wasn’t long, however as more Falmer came running in and Ondolemar was dragged along by Ganir to make a run for it. The surroundings flashed by them as they were far too focused on getting away with each other. The Falmer were _everywhere_. If not on their tails, the corrupted elves ran on the grates and walkways above them, bombarding them with rocks and their arrows. The Falmer that were hot on their trail behind them even threw their axes.  
  
After running down many corridors, hallways and forcing their way past the heavy doors or taking sharp, sudden turns in a futile attempt to shake them off their tail, Ganir pulled Ondolemar back by the robes just in time to prevent him from plummeting to his death as the stone, winding walkway had collapsed. Below, on a platform, lay two dead humans with arrows buried in their backs, but it was most likely the collapse that had meant the first steps to their demise.   
  
“The pipes!” Ganir said. “I’ll throw you. Quick!”   
  
“What, are you-?!” But Ondolemar got no chance to protest as Ganir grabbed his arm and forced Ondolemar to run and use the momentum of the Dark Elf’s powerful swing to make the jump across. Ondolemar grunted as he slammed against the steel but his hands instinctively clenched onto the steel rings that secured the pipes against the wall. It would permit him to climb down a bit and jump to the platform below safely. “Get over here! I can catch you!”   
  
Ganir looked at the doors, contemplating whether to shut them or not, but when an arrow missed his cheek by an inch, he made the jump as well, swearing when he nearly slipped, but Ondolemar grabbed his arm and pulled him up.  
   
They had no time for common courtesies or wisecracks and quickly climbed down. At first, he hesitated as he looked straight down. If he missed the platform, he could plummet to his death in the dark, freezing water below which was rushing somewhere underground. The two elves took a sharp breath and jumped across. Ganir made a far more graceful landing as he. He rolled over the ground to let his whole body take the impact of the landing, but hit a sharp rock in the process and hissed in pain.  
   
Ganir scrambled to his feet and grabbed the crude, leather shield that belonged to one of the fallen and he scurried over to Ondolemar to cover him and dove for safety behind the debris. “Stay here and stay low!” Before the Altmer could even so much as confirm or protest, Ganir bolted from their hiding place with the shield to deflect the arrows. “All right, now it’s my turn…”  
  
Ondolemar had no idea what was happening, but it was as if he could _see_ and _feel_   the intense energy building up within the Dark Elf’s chest, who took a sharp breath and then opened his mouth in that same, primordial language he had been snarling before. But this time, accompanied by three different and odd words, “YOL TOOR SHUL!” flames burst from his mouth and shot towards the Falmer.  
  
The corrupted elves on the front line caught flames and the others backed off, hissing and snarling. Ondolemar took that as his sign to make a run across the platform to hide in the alcove to a collapsed corridor. His eyes then locked on the walkway connected to the platform where they were and with two, swift incantations he sent a bolt of chain lightning to the three Falmer that came charging from below, but he could hear many more were on their way.  
  
“Ganir! We’re trapped!” He shouted. The Falmer above had retreated from the flames that escaped his mouth and the Dark Elf Dragonborn turned to heed the warning. His eyes shot from the Falmer to Ondolemar who tried to fight them back, joining his side. “What’s your plan?!”  
  
When Ganir peered over the edge of the ledge, the High Elf frantically shook his head. “Oh no! That’s _suicide_!” he exclaimed, but the Dark Elf grabbed a firm hold of him. “What are you doing-?! Let me go you crazy vampire, I am not-!”   
  
But his protests were quickly replaced by screaming when the Dark Elf jumped off the ledge with him and just in time at that as well. The Falmer from above fired their arrows and the ones from below had come charging in large numbers. Ganir had held Ondolemar in such a fashion, that when he jumped, he turned so that if they were to strike something under water, Ganir would take the hit as he was more likely to survive. _  
  
_ Ondolemar’s body went completely rigid when his body fell into the freezing water and the air was knocked out of his lungs. He was surrounded by complete, utter darkness and he began to panic when he couldn’t tell where the surface was. Just when he thought he was going to drown, a pair of strong arms wrapped around his chest and carried him to the surface where he emerged wheezing and gasping for air. “Don’t let go!” Ganir bellowed. The stream was stronger than anticipated and dragged them along, but it was clear he needn’t remind the High Elf, who clung to him for dear life as he struggled to keep his head above the water.  
  
He was completely disoriented and he had no idea where they were or where they were headed, but when they both saw light at the end of the tunnel, their eyes went wide. “If I survive this I’m going to kill you!” Ondolemar bellowed before incanting the spell on himself that would permit him to breathe under water. It was a small comfort to know that if either of  them survived being smashed on the rocks below the waterfall, he’d breathe long enough to wash ashore and die there with _some_ dignity.  
  
Both Elves shrieked as the force of the stream sent them flying over the edge and plummeted down into the large body of water below, but there were no rocks. Ondolemar struggled to swim as his robes weighed him down and he had no strength left in his body. Ganir grabbed a hold of him once again and swam ashore with him. The High Elf emerged, coughing, wheezing and shivering like an old hag.  
  
They had no time to even take their surroundings in. Ondolemar was grateful he could lean on Ganir, who took him into a chitin, cone-shaped hut of which the bottom was covered with moss, grass and tattered rags. Impulsive as his last-second choice had been, the Dark Elf clearly knew what he was doing. He began to undress the High Elf, leaving him clad in nothing but his loincloth. With rapid experience and expertise, the Dark Elf then removed his armor and undid his tunic. “Come on, put it on or you’re going to freeze to death.”   
  
Ondolemar’s teeth chattered and his whole body shook, but he managed to put the tunic on while Ganir lit a fire in the hut’s pit with a quick, exhaled and soft, “Yol!”   
  
“Oh god, please no-,” Ondolemar whined in protest when the Dark Elf grabbed a filthy looking, tattered Dwemer tapestry and wrapped it around him.   
  
“Stop nagging.” Ganir’s tone wasn’t harsh and he looked concerned while he rubbed the High Elf’s back to get him warm. “Ancano will _kill_ me if I return you frozen like a block of ice.”  
  
“If he won’t, I will.” As displeased as he was over the little ‘detour’ and the stink of the tattered rags, he welcomed the warmth of his dry attire, fire and Ganir’s care.  
   
Ganir’s lips curled into the handsome, rogue-ish smile he hadn’t seen in quite some time. “Have to say I find that hard to believe coming from a ‘stately’ and ‘superior-bred’ Mer who just screamed like a girl…” The Dark Elf burst into laughter at Ondolemar’s indignant and embarrassed look before he too couldn’t help but laugh a little.   
  
“I swear to Auri-El if you even so much as _mention_ this to Ancano…”  
  
Ganir took a deep breath to recover from his laughing fit and shook his head. “I promise if you tell me what happened in Camlorn, because I’m dying to know at this point.”  
  
“That’s blackmail!” Ondolemar’s eyes went wide.  
  
“You ponder your options,” Ganir chuckled and shook his head, squeezing the Altmer’s shoulder. “If you’re going to be all right, I have to scout the area and make sure we’re safe and find you some food. I’ll be sure to rush to your aid if you can scream like you did earlier…”  
  
The Dark Elf ducked just in time when Ondolemar threw a rock at him, but the both of them grinned. Now alone, Ondolemar felt strangely unsafe even though he knew that the Dark Elf was nearby. His fingers were stiff and uncooperative from the cold as he tried to figure a way to hang his robes to dry until his mind could focus well enough to cast a spell to take care of that little conundrum instantly.   
  
Exhausted, however, he gave up and sat down again, staring into the flames that comforted him so. He struggled against the increasing weight of his eyelids, which felt heavier and heavier, until he could no longer fight the exhaustion and fell asleep.  
   
Once Ganir got out of the hut, he found himself not only amazed that they had survived the whole wild trek and the drop of at least sixty feet, but also where the little ‘detour’ had taken them. He had no idea as to the specifics of ‘where’ but the rapid had led them to a massive citadel deep underground. Had they tried to find this by ‘normal means’, it probably would’ve taken them days if not weeks! The small group of cone-shaped, chitin huts made by the Falmer had long been abandoned as he found no fresh tracks anywhere nearby. To the far back was a large, square dais sided by broad stone stairways that led to massive, steel doors, which was probably the ‘traditional’ entrance to this breath-taking place, leading to the fortress…or temple? What was it exactly?  
  
Ganir climbed a rock formation to have a better look and beheld a beautiful plaza with a fountain at its center where glowing mushrooms grew within. What really caught his eye, however, was the intricate, stone wall with massive, ornate and steel doors, sided by steel arch-ways which seemed to be a holding stations for a pair of huge Dwemer Steam Automatons, of which only one was present but inactive. It was about thirty feet high and resembled a massive, steel warrior. It had no ‘arms’ to speak of as one took the shape of a spiked mace and the other a blade. Ganir knew from experience that this was not the only arsenal at the Steam Automaton’s disposal as they could fire steel bolts from a mechanism below their blade-arm and steam could be blown from the ‘mouth’. They were brilliant and deadly creations.  
  
He had no way of knowing for certain, but his gut told him that this had to be the entrance to Blackreach. Excited, he slid down the rocks, back to the tent where he found Ondolemar sleeping.  
  
He knelt down at the High Elf’s side and laid a hand on his forehead to make sure he was not catching fever or sickness as his kind was rather susceptible to disease. Knowing that he was fine for the time being, Ganir made himself comfortable against the furs and tattered sheets he had gathered and though he didn’t need sleep, he figured it would be nice to get some degree of shut-eye so to speak. His mind wandered when he caught his gaze’s repeated return to the sleeping High Elf.  
   
Ondolemar was responsible for countless deaths. He had to be. As commanding officer of the Thalmor Justiciars in Skyrim, he was not only to apprehend their opposition, but also arrest and persecute Talos-worshippers. But why, he wondered, did this not bother him as much?  
  
He had to think of Cirilonde, who no doubt knew of the blood on Ancano’s hands at the time, but insisted they spare his life. Ganir looked at his own hands. While there was no physical blood visible, he knew he had no place to judge, but Cirilonde had seen the good in both him and Ancano. He had yet to determine whether this had to do with her youthfulness or with the wisdom and understanding she possessed.   
  
_I miss you, Ciri_. He thought with a smile as he glanced at Ondolemar again. Sure, the ‘superior-bred’ Altmer could look after himself, but he felt protective of him not only because he was Ancano’s friend.  
  
This land, as merciless as it could be, really did strange things to people.   


 


	25. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dark Elf stared into the flames. “If you really thought of him as that, you wouldn’t have given him the time of day,” Ganir said, but he sounded understanding rather than judgmental. “It’s what confuses me about your people…or the Thalmor, rather. You are so caught up and blinded by the sense of superiority, bloodlines and ‘breeding’, you forget the value of love and life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there again and welcome (back).
> 
> After it took me quite some time to get the previous and this chapter out, I decided to make sure it was all in order and up to par and post both of them shortly after each other.
> 
> Thank you for taking your time to read this. I hope you enjoy(ed). If you can, please leave a comment or a kudo so I know I'm heading in the right direction (still) and what you did or didn't like.
> 
> Enjoy your read and day, and again, thanks for taking your time to read.

**Chapter 24**

High cheekbones graced a soft, handsome face and he had hazel eyes. The subtle, slender curve of his ears betrayed the half Wood-Elf heritage within the young, Breton bastard if the flawless, tanned complexion of his skin wasn’t enough of a dead give-away. Young Alvas’ existence had never been welcomed by his father, Lord Erehardt, but his mother had birthed and loved her son in spite of it all. His existence alone was a defiance to his father, but if anyone so much as even caught a whiff of his intimacy with a Thalmor Justiciar, his ultimate rebellion, there would be hell to pay for all of them.  
   
He had struggled to subdue the beast that stirred within him whenever the High Elf was close until one night, after a severe interrogation, Ondolemar had stepped in to stop his colleague from whipping the half-breed bastard until he was unconscious. It had all led to this moment where Ondolemar snuck into Alvas’ room like he’d done plenty of times before, but that fear of them being discovered was always there. On the plus side, it also added to the excitement.  
   
The Justiciar didn’t give a damn, though and caught Alvas’ lips in a passionate, demanding kiss he gladly returned. Alvas’ lips parted to welcome the Altmer’s tongue, growing weak in the knees when a deep sensual growl reverberated from Ondolemar’s chest. He had never felt so wanted, craved and desired by a man who was meant to despise him for everything that he was, but the High Elf had made his intentions quite clear.  
  
Ondolemar’s touch left a wake of goosebumps on Alvas’ slender torso. “Please…Tonight…” Alvas groaned when the High Elf’s teeth nipped at his skin before suckling at the sweet spot. His nails raked over the Altmer’s back. “Take me…tonight….Please?”  
   
“Again and again if I can.” Ondolemar dug his nails into Alvas’ behind and ground his hips against Alvas’. The half-breed took a sharp breath as their erections ground against one each other. Alvas had already left his tunic undone, clad in only pants. All that was between them now was the fabric of his breeches and of the Thalmor’s robes. With shaking fingers, Alvas struggled to unfasten the clasps of Ondolemar’s robes, who didn’t make it any easier for him to focus when the Altmer’s hand took a firm hold of Alvas’ groin.   
  
“Ondolemar…” Alvas ground his hips against the Justiciar’s touch who shrugged the robes off his shoulders with a smirk. No one had looked at him like Alvas did, who was awed with his beauty. His slender, feminine and soft hands stroked the High Elf’s chest and his lips left countless, loving, quick kisses. His lips then curled into a mischievous smile and he flicked the tip of his tongue over the Altmer’s hard nipple. Ondolemar growled, muffling the half-breed’s startled yelp by kissing him while hitching Alvas’ legs to straddle his hips. The half-breed wrapped his arms around Ondolemar’s neck and deepened the kiss they shared. His ‘oomph’ was followed by giggles when the High Elf threw him down on the bed and climbed on top of him.   
  
“Alvas…” Ondolemar’s breath was hot and his voice husky. There was a warmth in his eyes when he gazed down upon the imperfect, handsome little half-breed he’d fallen head over heels with. “Are you sure? It will hurt at first. I will be gentle, I promise, but…”  
  
“Mara watches over us tonight,” Alvas kissed Ondolemar, running his fingers over the shaven scalp before rubbed the length of the High Elf’s ear. “I want you…”  
  
Ondolemar closed his eyes and groaned when Alvas grabbed a firm hold of his behind and their hips ground against one another. “I’ll make sure you’ll never forget this night, Alvas.” But their passionate love-making was crudely interrupted by Ancano, who had warned of Elenwen’s early return.   
  
Ondolemar stared into the fire, which wasn’t as intense as Ganir’s unwavering gaze. “Ancano burst into the room to find me on top and inside of Alvas to warn me of Elenwen’s return. When he learned she was going to ‘keep things simple’, he immediately rushed over…” Ondolemar’s cheeks glowed hot-red with embarrassment while at the same time completely caught in the moment of that intense memory, but it didn’t sadden him. “It wasn’t just our friendship that had me help Ancano when you appeared on my doorstep in Markarth. He didn’t just safe my ass that night, but he helped Alvas and his mother escape the estate…” Ondolemar rubbed his forehead, shaking his head. “Not long after that, Elenwen found the dissidents, but they had hidden amongst the refugees. When Ancano refused to give his men the orders to attack, Elenwen got furious and took control. They were all killed… Though he was right, Ancano was disgracefully demoted from the rank of Justiciar…It could have been worse, trust me… I maintained my rank because I was under his wing at the time…It’s how he ended up being sent to Skyrim to spy on Winterhold and I to Markarth…under _her_ command.” Ondolemar’s chuckle was bitter, “There you have it. The depravity of an ex-Thalmor Commander of the Justiciars in Skyrim who bedded a half-breed of the same sex.”  
  
The Dark Elf stared into the flames. “If you really thought of him as that, you wouldn’t have given him the time of day,” Ganir said, but he sounded understanding rather than judgmental. “It’s what confuses me about your people…or the Thalmor, rather. You are so caught up and blinded by the sense of superiority, bloodlines and ‘breeding’, you forget the value of love and life.”  
  
“Everything that happened to Ancano, especially recently, really opened my eyes.” Ondolemar said. “Don’t misunderstand me; I do believe my people is vastly superior in a variety of matters; we’re a magnificent, beautiful and magical race who possess great power and knowledge. But if we truly are so, then we should know better than think that genocide is an answer to regain our divinity. We’d be no better than your average Daedric Prince. One would think the Oblivion Crisis taught us this…”  
  
Ganir raised a brow. “Divinity?”  
  
Ondolemar took a sharp breath and ran his hand over his scalp. “This isn’t common knowledge, but …Where do I even begin? The Thalmor are the governing body of the Aldmeri Dominion. For all its political agendas, they’re not keen on sharing that they’re not out to simply rule all of Tamriel. They seek to eradicate Talos’ existence from the divine pantheon and eradicate all human life so we can ascend to our ancestors and become truly immortal and godly. It’s _the_ main reason why I have to help aside from our friendship. If this were to happen, it could very well unbalance the scale of all creation. Alduin’s return alone is testament to this!”  
   
Ganir was shocked to hear this, but for some reason, not that surprised. It made sense why the Thalmor were out to butcher the Blades and why they had been adamant to forbid Talos-worship and hunt them down. Ondolemar shivered when the Dragonborn gave him a sharp look, “It’s why Ancano was tampering with the Eye of Magnus, wasn’t he?”  
   
“I doubt he’ll ever tell what he intended to do, or what he’s experienced…” Ondolemar looked away from the burning, red eyes. “But you trust him, right? Do you trust me?”  
   
“I don’t trust anyone.” Ganir had responded quickly and was far too focused on fastening the buckles of his armor. “Whatever you do. Don’t place too much faith in me either. I only intend to stop Alduin. I have no desire to get caught up in some political war. Burned myself on that once and don’t plan too again.” Ganir then sheathed his daggers after making sure they were sharp and clean. “Let’s go.”  
   
Ondolemar wondered how Ganir had been ‘burned’ before and wondered if the Oblivion Crisis had anything to do with it. He had refused to talk about it in-depth, if he would even answer any questions at all. Nevertheless, they had been here for quite a while as Ondolemar needed to rest and regain his strength. Now that he was fit again, he was more than eager to leave the smelly hut behind. He secured the clasps on the chest piece of his robes and followed the Dark Elf outside to the vantage point that looked out over the massive, stone plaza secured behind ornate gates.  
  
The lone, inactive Steam Centurion looked so forlorn, but it was a shared concern for both the elves. “I know the Dwemer too well. The moment we open those gates, that Centurion will be activated as part of the defense mechanism,” Ganir said.   
  
“It’s not an obstacle we can’t overcome,” Ondolemar countered. “Calcelmo taught me that as brilliant as the Dwemer were, there is a flaw in their design. Their automatons function on the resonance of a soulgem that powers the dynamo to heat their water reservoir. They’re energized by magic and steam, which powers their hydraulic system…”  
   
“You lost me at ‘magical resonance’,” Ganir blinked. He wasn’t stupid, but in-depth details such as these he considered more of a ‘nice-to-know’ basis than a ‘need-to-know’ basis.  
  
Ondolemar heaved a sigh. _Incorrigible._ “That energy they build has to go somewhere. On their back, near the base of their neck, is an exhaust. Block that and the machine will deactivate itself to prevent from overheating and blowing up.”  
  
“I have a suspicion of what your plan is and I don’t like it.” Ganir grumbled.  
  
“It’s easy. You just keep it busy and I’ll cram a rock in the hole. It’s an easily done and over with tactic if executed properly.” The Dark Elf looked at the High Elf as if he was mad, sounding far too optimistic.  
  
The Dark Elf unleashed a barrage of what had to be swearwords under his breath in his own language before he hopped off the rock. “All right then, let’s get to it.” Just because this was perhaps the easiest way to handle a menacing, metal machine that could easily crush and pulverize them, didn’t mean he looked forward to be cannon fodder…again…as usual…  
  
The two elves made their way over to the gate and simultaneously pulled the levers at each side of the gate. The walls shook as the massive, ornate steel gates shoved the dirt and rocks out of its way to open, but the loudest racket came from the Centurion’s holding station. Bolts snapped lose and another mechanism, upon release, gave a spark which activated the Steam Centurion’s dynamo.  
  
The machine’s massive, heavy steel feet left indentations in the stone floor as it stomped out of its holding place. Countless gears and pistons whirred and buzzed loudly as it straightened itself up and locked on Ganir.   
  
“Oh come on!” The Dark Elf exclaimed and he made a run up to the central plaza so he had the space to outmaneuver the automaton. The machine raised its right arm which was shaped into a sword, but below, it revealed a hollow tube from which a bolt (or a spear, rather) was launched. Had Ganir not leapt out of the way in time, it would have gone straight through him but instead obliterated the fountain. When the machine deducted that he hadn’t hit its target, it raised its left arm, shaped like a mace to crush Ganir. The Dark Elf ducked as the spiked metal was swung over his head, but the Centurion used the momentum of his swing to raise the mace over its head and then smash it into the ground.  
  
Ganir rolled out of the way in time, shielding his face from the shattered stone that was sent flying upon the mace’s impact. “Ondolemar, you had better be quick about this!”   
  
“Just keep its attention, I need to find the right moment---ACK!” The Steam Centurion’s pistons went in overdrive to pull its mace-arm free from the stone, but when it came lose, the machine stumbled back. Ondolemar ran out of the way to avoid being crushed under the feet. Ganir saw the machine’s head turn to Ondolemar and began to throw rocks at it to get its attention again.   
  
After observing the effort it took the Steam Centurion to break free, the Dark Elf had an idea.  
  
“What are you doing?!” Ondolemar exclaimed when the Dark Elf casually hopped back while pelting rocks at the metal menace, whose face was carved with a permanent scowl. But when the Steam Centurion stomped down the stone steps, the High Elf realized what he was planning and he waited for the automaton to raise its mace and slam it into the steps. Ganir landed with little grace when he leapt back, but his plan had worked. The armed arm was stuck in the stone and Ondolemar didn’t hesitate for a second. He bolted towards the machine and took a running jump to grab hold of a vent and cram the rock in his other hand into the exhaust pipe.   
  
“Get off!” Ganir shrieked, panicking when the machine had somehow managed to detect the High Elf and its head and torso spun on their axels to face Ondolemar, who looked outright terrified by this unexpected development. The High Elf’s eyes went wide when the machine raised its sword-arm. If he were to jump now, it would hit him either way. Ganir’s mind reeled and he ran up the steps to face the automaton. “FUS RO!” With the combined momentum that its mace-arm was stuck, and his other arm was knocked back, the massive machine stumbled backwards. Ganir leapt, kicking the machine against the chest and he dug his claws into the High Elf’s shoulders to pull him off.  
  
The machine fell, the exhaust hot-red and fuming but it couldn’t free the  rock in its exhaust, nor could it prevent its fall. An odd, deep hum resounded from the Steam Centurion, who had powered down before it hit the ground with a loud CLANK, ringing quite painfully in both the elves’ ears, but they had made it.  
  
The Dark Elf cleared his throat. “You can…let…go now…You know?”   
  
Ondolemar glared at the vampire, who had raised his brow with a grin when his cheeks glowed hot red. “Not. A. Word to Ancano…Understand?”  
  
“Wouldn’t _dare._ ” The Dark Elf grabbed the Altmer’s extended hand and pulled himself up. “Good job though. You didn’t scream this time.”  
  
“I’ll never hear the end of this, will I?” Ondolemar grumbled.  
  
“Ancano doesn’t either.” Ganir shrugged. “You should see the twitch of his brow whenever you accuse him of ‘nearly blowing up the College.”  
  
“And he hasn’t killed you yet, why exactly?” Ondolemar shook his head and the two of them made their way through the doors that had opened as well, only to be greeted by a rather sad sight.  
  
Ganir knelt down at the dead Imperial, whose face was beaten beyond recognition by the spiked, round shield the Redguard woman must have wielded. She also lay dead, impaled by the Imperial short sword.  
  
“Well, that takes care of the Synod…” Ondolemar said dryly and he made his way over  to the raised, stone quadrangle, which wasn’t an altar, but the mechanism Septimus and Calcelmo had both referred too. On top of this tablet, rested an intricate, Dwemer steel and glass-lensed device with an empty, hollow space where the attunement sphere would fit.   
  
“What’s wrong?” Ganir asked.  
  
“Nothing…it’s just…” Ondolemar ran his fingers over the carvings. “I don’t know what it’s like for you, or even in your interest, but we are about to open the doors to a place so ancient and forgotten where no mortal has set foot in centuries…And we just rediscovered it…”  
  
_Scholars…_ But Ganir knew that if he had been here with Cirilonde, she would have been just as awed and excited. “I’ll have you do the honors then…” The Dark Elf pulled the attunement sphere out of his bag and handed it to the Altmer, who gladly took it. With surprising gentleness, the Altmer placed the tool into the device and turned it. With a satisfying ‘click’, the machine’s lenses began to turn  and aligned. The stone floor shook and the carved area around them, save for where they were stood, began to descend, revealing a spiraling stairway down.  
  
After Ganir checked for traps, Ondolemar followed him down to the door which was heavy and hard to push open, but they finally managed.  
  
What they saw beyond that door, neither had held possible, nor did they believe their eyes.  
  
After blinking repeatedly, and then squinting their eyes, they then went wide in awe at the forlorn, hidden beauty of Blackreach and immediately understood its name.  
  
The foundation of Alftand, was Blackreach’s rock ceiling, illuminated by glowing fungi as though starlit. Humongous mushrooms and their strands glimmered in varieties of teal, electric blue and purple like the fungi on the ‘ceiling’, illuminating the city in the darkest black of the underground citadel, marked with countless towers, ruined settlements and in the distance they could see a massive fortress. Even the water held a radiance that gave this whole place an image beyond dreams and tales either had ever heard of or dared to dream of before.  
  
Ondolemar moved his mouth to speak, but no words came. His breath was simply taken away by the beauty of it all. Thankfully for him, Ganir, while awed, never ceased to lower his guard and covered the High Elf’s mouth, gesturing for silence. They lowered themselves to the floor as silently as they could…Five Falmer stood not too far away from them on the cobbled path, hissing, growling and looking around. They had heard the door open and shut.  
  
“Follow me.” Ganir mouthed and the  two elves crawled over the floor on their bellies to a safer spot in the shadows, where they waited for the Falmer to continue their way.   
  
Relieved they hadn’t been spotted, Ondolemar let out a sigh. “Place is crawling with Falmer…”  
  
“You’ve seen that little abode, though?” Ganir quipped, pointing at the little intact Dwemer ‘house’ of sorts that stood at the ‘road’ where the Falmer had been earlier.   
  
“You think it’s safe to enter?” Ondolemar queried.  
  
“Let me go check out. Stay here.” Before he could even protest, the Dark Elf had hopped from shadow to shadow without a sound and made his way over. Ganir winced when he gently pushed the door inward and it creaked. He waited for a few seconds and looked around to make sure the coast was still clear. He then opened the door far enough to peek in and then wiggled his way past the crevice. He didn’t want to completely open it and accidentally alert whatever else lurked in here besides the Falmer.  
  
_What in the…_ The Dark Elf’s brows knitted together in confusion and many questions whirled through his mind when he found a recently killed High Elf lying on the floor. His body barely showed signs of decompose so he had to be dead for at least two or three days…  
  
It wasn’t hard to figure out _how_ the Altmer had met his end, however, as three Falmer arrows stuck out from his back. Not eager to leave Ondolemar alone for too long, he silently opened the door further and signaled for him to come over. With a swift incantation, the Altmer cast a spell of invisibility and made his way over, his body tensing visibly when he too saw the dead elf.  
  
“Who in…how?” he asked as soft as he could. Ganir shut the door behind them.   
  
“I don’t know. Was hoping to find out. Falmer killed him, that’s for sure, but he’s only been dead for three days maximum…” Ganir replied. “Given all these tools and supplies, though, he must know this place. We should look for something of use, like a journal, or a map…”  
  
The abode was perfect, in a sense. It was small, with a Dwemer, stone bed against the left wall and an ornate but small cabinet with enough room to store a few clothes. To the right, taking up the entire wall, was a stone slab connected to the walls, where an alchemy table had been placed and was littered with a wide variety of ingredients. The Dark Elf knelt down at the bed’s foot-end and rummaged through the bag while Ondolemar rummaged through the shelves and cabinets at the alchemy table.  
  
It was Ganir, however, who found something. “Look at this…” Ganir whispered. “This journal…Sinderion…Skingrad…” The Dark Elf’s eyes looked distant all of the sudden. He could have met this man.  
  
“Don’t jest…!” Ondolemar nearly tore the journal out of Ganir’s hand in disbelief, looking at the High Elf and then back at the journal. “Auri-El…This is _the_ Sinderion. That poor bastard…”  
  
“Even I heard of him…or, well, sort of.” Ganir scratched the back of his head. “He was in Skingrad when I was dealing with the Crisis. Heard the rumors of some mysterious plant that had been discovered. Seems his research led him here.”  
  
“If it wasn’t so gods-be-damned dangerous here, I’d want to…Oh, hello…What’s this now?” Ondolemar shook the journal and a loose sheet of parchment fell from between the pages. “It’s a map…”  
  
They immediately laid it out on the bed. “Just look at this…” Ondolemar was like a child at the bakery who had just gotten the most tasty, freshest sweet roll known to history. Ganir couldn’t help but grin. It was endearing and quite interesting to see him so expressive.   
  
His eyes scanned the map where Sinderion had not only charted his findings, but also made notes and scribblings.  
  
“Look here…to the far South South-East…Tower Mzark.” Ondolemar’s finger tapped the specific location on the map. “The Elder Scroll has to be here.”  
  
The Dark Elf’s fingers toyed with one of the golden earrings. “The way there is quite out in the open…Could you maintain an invisibility spell for that long?”   
  
“I should be able too,” Ondolemar nodded. “Please, take this with you. We _must_ look into this at a later date.”  
  
“Just know I’m not going to play Falmer exterminator. I’m too occupied in the dragon business at the moment,” he joked while packing the journal and map into his bag. “Let’s go. And be careful.”  
  
The High Elf nodded and the two elves didn’t waste any time. They knew where they had to go and staying here would only risk their discovery. After making sure the coast was clear, they darted along the walls and followed the path up to the tower Mzark. It came as quite a surprise to find there was nothing of danger anywhere to be seen.   
  
Surrounded by water with only a stone bridge leading there, the Tower of Mzark was a lone building in the utmost corner of Blackreach. The two elves double-checked the door for traps, but found none and made their way in.   
  
The square, levelled hall was completely deserted but showed signs of having been inhabited. Judging by the old, dried bloodstains and bones, there had been some sort of fight here long ago and the building had been abandoned since.  
Ganir stood still for a few seconds, his keen senses trying to detect any signs of life before they crossed the hallway and walked up to the rotund alcove at the end of a corridor. On the floor in the center, surrounded by steel grates, was a lever, which they pulled. The gears made quite the racket and the floor shook before it lift them upwards, initially startling both elves, fearing they would be crushed to death, but they realized they were in an ancient elevator that beyond understanding, still functioned without flaw.  
  
They emerged on the next level, where they found a massive, Dwemer steel and lensed orb that nearly occupied the whole of the room, sparing just enough for a stone, winding walkway to lead up.  
  
“Auri-El…” Ondolemar and he both looked up at the facetted ceiling where steel arms held large, glass lenses with symbols, but their eyes were mainly focused on the egg-shaped glass at the center, surrounded by vine-shaped bars of Dwemer steel.  
  
“Can you feel that too?” Ganir’s pupils had dilated. “Like the wind is blowing, but there is no wind. There is a deafening silence…”  
  
“There’s definitely an Elder Scroll in there.” Ondolemar concluded. “Come on.”  
  
The Dark Elf had no idea _how_ they were going to get it, but Ondolemar clearly had figured out how or perhaps even knew. They made their way up to the machine’s control panel, which looked out over the top of the humongous sphere. Within its center, lay three, hollow disks which could rotate in place, permitting for the round, lensed and steel ‘ball’ within to rotate.  
  
“Alignment…Light…Correlation with the stars…So that means…” Ondolemar muttered. “Ganir. The Lexicon.”   
  
“Do you know how this works?” Ganir asked, handing him the lexicon.  
  
“No. But I have an idea…”   
  
The control panel was beyond Ganir’s comprehension, so he was thankful for Ondolemar’s presence, who seemed to have a natural insight for this device, which already frustrated him to no end for confusing him so.  
  
The control panel consisted of four cylindrical pillars with buttons? And to the far right of it, was another pillar with four pins, where the lexicon fit perfectly when Ondolemar placed it there.  
The machine immediately sprung to life and the grated ‘lid’ over two of the buttons slid away so Ondolemar could operate it.  
  
“All right…Quiet. I need to concentrate.” Ondolemar said before he pushed one of the buttons. Ganir winced and covered his ears. The machine’s hydraulic hissed and ground loudly as the inner bearing began to rotate within, showing it had multi-facetted lenses all over its surface. It was a complex process and Ganir understood very little of how Ondolemar managed to figure this out so easily and so he watched, grateful for the High Elf’s presence and intrigued.  
  
“So this must operate the lenses…And if I have it properly aligned…” Ondolemar pushed the third button which had become available to him and the lenses attached to the arms on the ceiling rung as they were lowered and turned to illuminate the lenses on the bearing after a part of the ceiling had receded upwards to reveal a light source.   
  
When the light connected with the lenses, the protected egg was lowered to the center and with a loud click, the whole machine locked itself in place. The steel ‘vines’ parted and a glass ‘lid’ opened itself outward, revealing a solid, thick and ornate scroll.  
  
“I can’t believe it…” Ondolemar gasped, his awe never ending. “That insane bat wasn’t even lying…”  
  
Ganir even had to admit he was completely taken aback. This was definitely no ordinary spell-scroll or some fancy, rolled-up parchment of no value or power. He had felt it and still did.  
  
“Wait…” Ondolemar grabbed Ganir’s shoulder. “We need to be _very_ careful. Remember Septimus’ warning.”  
  
“Well, come help me out then,” Ganir said with a grin. “This is _our_ discovery. Our moment of glory.”  
  
“Imagine the look of Ancano’s face if he were here.” The two elves made their way down and carefully lift the scroll from its holding place, weighing a good ten pounds or so.  
  
“It’s all possible…” Ganir’s fingers stroked the ornate seal. “Everything is possible with this.”  
  
“Now you finally understand,” Ondolemar smiled.   
  
“Will you come with me to High Hrothgar?” Ganir asked. “I…I want you to be there. You won’t believe your eyes.”  
  
“After all this, I’ll believe anything.” Ondolemar laughed, filled with a mirth and excitement he hadn’t felt in years. He looked at the Dark Elf Dragonborn, who was positively beaming, sharing the sentiment and emotions he felt.   
  
As crazy and potentially suicidal as this whole trip had been, this had been _their_ adventure. Little did they know, it had only just begun.


	26. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, it's a random encounter. A wild, homocidal jester of questionable sanity appears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, and welcome, or welcome back to Chapter 25 of The Unlikely Companions.
> 
> Thank you for taking your time to read this fic and the new chapter once again. The kudos and comments are really appreciated. We're getting close to yet another pivotal point in the plot, so I hope you're ready to strap down and enjoy the read.
> 
> Let me know what you thought!
> 
> Enjoy your read and day!

**Chapter 25**  
  
Only when the two elves emerged from Tower Mzark in the mountain range North of Whiterun, they got some grasp of how massive Blackreach had to be if it was connected to Alftand over such a vast distance. They had but caught a glimpse of it, which took them from the Pale’s tundra, all the way here, able to distinguish the silhouette of Dragonsreach in the distance to their South.   
  
The problem that arose from it, was that it would not only take too long to return to the College to get their horses, but it would also be too dangerous. Even if they wouldn’t come across patrolling Thalmor soldiers and Justiciars, Ondolemar’s safety was still in question and he would stand out like a jester in a graveyard in the company of Ganir and Whiterun.  
  
Irony had it that Sheogorath seemed to harbor a desire to spruce up their already insane adventure. After pushing through the thorn bushes, they found their way down to the cobbled path to Whiterun. They kept off the road as much as they could, sticking to the bushes where possible and froze in their steps when they stumbled across a most peculiar and unexpected scene before them.  
   
The fellow was clad in weird, colorful attire in tones of black, orange and lined with gold thread. His shoes had curvy, pointed tips with bells attached, which would jingle along with the bells attached to his funny jester’s hat. But he was not bouncing merrily, nor was he dancing. He looked positively outraged and terrified at the same time as he protectively shielded access to the back of his wagon. They had no idea what was in the large rectangular crate, but it had caught the interest of the three Thalmor soldiers and Justiciar.  
  
“Cicero would never, _never_ he says! To accuse Cicero of such a _horrible_ thing!” The jester exclaimed, his coal-marked eyes close to tears, which darted from one elf to the other. “Cicero is just taking his poor, sweet mother to her new grave!”  
  
“And you expect us to believe such nonsense?” The Thalmor Justiciar, clad in robes like Ondolemar’s sneered. “We have all the reason to suspect even _you_ of smuggling contraband. Out of our way!”  
  
The jester shrieked when one of the Thalmor soldiers grabbed him by the shoulder and threw him in the mud while the other got onto the wagon. The soldier then unsheathed his blade and intended to use his weapon as a crowbar to force the crate open while the commanding Justiciar waited patiently to see what ‘precious’ cargo was truly stored within the crate.  
  
_No good deed goes unpunished._ Ganir grit his teeth, frustrated as he was conflicted. He could easily kill them, but he had made a promise to both himself and Arngeir. _They would force my hand either way, but we have to get past them without being detected._ The Dark Elf was so caught up with his train of thoughts, he had not noticed the Thalmor’s horses nearby.  
  
Thankfully, Ondolemar had noticed and after tapping Ganir on the shoulder and pointing it out, the two Elves’ eyes shot from the Thalmor to their horses. One of the soldiers was still trying to pry the crate open under the watchful eye of his superior, the Justiciar. The other soldier towered over Cicero, glaring daggers at the ‘lowly, pathetic’ human in  the mud.  
  
Ondolemar and Ganir gave each other a nod and when the Dark Elf gave the signal, they bolted for  the horses and jumped on their backs, racing off in full gallop, staying as low as they could to avoid being hit.   
  
But nothing happened, nor did they have the time to check why. But in the moment the Thalmors’ attention was diverted to the horse thieves, the jester’s harmless façade melted like snow before the sun. “Sacrilege! Defiler! Blasphemers!” He snarled while repeatedly plunging his dagger in and out of the Thalmor soldier that had shoved him in the mud. Before the other two High Elves even had a grasp as to what was going on, the small, Imperial jester grabbed hold of the Justiciar’s shoulder and repeatedly stabbed him in the back and disappeared under the cart.  
  
Completely startled and terrified by the sudden development, the remaining soldier was caught between his fighting and fleeing instinct. He never made it off the cart and he wouldn’t hit the ground until the jester was out of breath from repeatedly stabbing and slashing at his flesh, shoving him off the wagon into the mud where the High Elf soldier was left to bleed to death with his associates.   
  


* * *

  
  
In the meantime, Ganir and Ondolemar hadn’t even once looked over their shoulders to see where the Thalmor were. They were under the assumption they had lost them and had well made their way around the mountain and weren’t too far away from Ivarstead.   
  
They slowed down and rode alongside one another so the horses could catch their breath. “You look troubled,” Ganir observed.   
  
“The Thalmor’s efforts are mostly focused in the regions of Hjaalmarch and the Reach. That we came across them back there doesn’t bode well.” Ondolemar replied. “I needn’t wonder whether she knows or not, but Elenwen is definitely keeping up appearances by pressuring the Jarls and their people by keeping everyone on their toes with increased Thalmor presence.”  
  
Ganir dug a tooth into his tongue, contemplating whether to ask or not, but he felt far too compelled not too. “Do you regret helping us?”  
  
“It’s easy to say ‘no’ right off the bat,” Ondolemar replied after pondering the question that caught him off guard for a moment. “I didn’t just help a friend in need and I easily could have left it at that, but I didn’t, which complicates matters more than you may even realize. I grew up admiring and respecting the Thalmor and was eager to join and rise in their ranks. I’ve made friends, enemies and rivals…Regardless of your success against Alduin, Ancano and I will forever be in danger of persecution, no matter where we go or in whose company we are.” The High Elf waved a dismissive hand when the Dark Elf made to apologize. “I bear no resentment towards you for the choices I made. You asked a question and I gave you an earnest answer. I made my choice to do what I have done, believing it is right and needs to be done, though I know I will be made to regret it if all goes awry.”  
   
The Dark Elf nodded but the Altmer’s response didn’t make him feel any better. He knew he wasn’t entirely at fault, but at the same time, he felt very uncomfortable over the situation Ancano and Ondolemar were in because they were helping him. It was why he was thankful when Ivarstead came in sight and they dismounted their horses to climb the mountain to High Hrothgar once more and he could think.   
  
The High Elf had taken note of the grim contemplation in the Dunmer’s eyes. _What was I to say otherwise?_ Ondolemar felt no need or desire to lie to Ganir, but it seemed the truth wounded and troubled his friend even more. He winced when he almost pulled a muscle to look up at the mountain which was shrouded in mist and clouds. “Anything I need know about these…Greybeards? I doubt they’ll be too eager to see an uninvited guest.”  
  
“I’m sure they won’t mind your presence if you are respectful,” Ganir said. “Just let me do the talking.”  
  
Ganir had traversed the seven-thousand steps a few times now and knew the way, but he couldn’t help but stop sometimes to enjoy the view. Ondolemar initially didn’t share the sentiment, cursing the cold, especially when it began to snow and the wind picked up, but when he saw Lake Ilinalta to the East shimmer in the distance, his breath was taken away. His eyes could see so far and down below and it made the world look so small and fragile, but it captivated Skyrim’s rough beauty so well all the same.  
  
Ganir wasn’t sure what to say as Ondolemar’s words gave him no promise of any reassurance, but both he and Ancano had made their choices knowing the possible, dangerous consequences. He knew he wasn’t to blame, but he felt that if he was Dragonborn, he should’ve been able to prevent Cirilonde’s death somehow. What if the same fate would befall the two High Elves because he failed them? His inner voice toiled for words that stirred deep within him, but he felt unable to speak. He wanted to promise Ondolemar all the security and safety of his watchful eyes.  That he wouldn’t let any harm come to him or Ancano, but instead, he turned away from the marvelous view. “Let’s go.” _I can’t live in fear of the ‘what if’. I will do whatever I can or  think is right, like I always have…_  
  
The High Elf nodded and they made their way over to the Monastery in the distance, where Arngeir already stood waiting. He didn’t look displeased or surprised to see that Ganir was not alone this time. “Welcome back, Dragonborn,  I see you were successful in your pursuit of finding the Elder Scroll. Who is this you’ve brought along? You know we do not welcome strangers.”  
  
“I am aware, Master Arngeir but I implore for you to let him in. He is in need of my protection and he can help me with the scroll.” Ganir bowed his head respectfully.  
  
The old Nord regarded the High Elf with unmoving, sharp eyes. He sighed and shook his head. “He is to stay with you. Go, Dragonborn. Paarthurnax no doubt awaits you.”  
  
“Thank you, Master Arngeir. Ondolemar’s presence shan’t inconvenience you, I promise.” Ganir promised and they followed Arngeir inside, who left up the steps to the left, no doubt to return to his meditation.   
  
It wasn’t as cold as outside, but Ondolemar wondered how the monks survived all the way up here in this distant and lonely place. He studied the carved, stone walls and tattered, old banners depicting ancient tales and the crude, claw markings he was not familiar with yet. Ganir motioned for Ondolemar to follow him outside to the inner courtyard of the monastery.  
  
The High Elf furrowed his brow. “So…Who exactly is this Paarthurnax? Are we to meet him here or…?”  
   
The Dunmer shook his head. “He’s at the summit of the mountain. Whatever you do, when he is willing to speak with us and comes, make no sudden moves.”  
  
“No sudden moves?” Ondolemar frowned. “What exactly are you hiding from me?”  
  
Ganir’s sharp teeth were as white as the snow when bared to grin. “And here I thought you’d gotten a taste for adventure and sating your curiosity…You’ll see when we get to the top.”  
  
The High Elf rolled his eyes and heaved an irritable sigh. _Incorrigible._ But he nevertheless followed the Dark Elf up to the top of the Throat of the World.  
Not satisfied with the answer either way, when they neared the summit, Ondolemar decided to press the matter again. “Paarthurnax. Quite a peculiar name for a … monk. Why exactly is he all the way up here?”   
  
“You’ll see.” The Dark Elf grabbed hold of Ondolemar’s hand to make sure he wouldn’t slip and they walked over the fresh, thick layer of fallen snow that coated the jagged plateau of the top of the Throat of the World. The first thing Ondolemar saw, was the large, crude and crescent-shaped wall with claw-like writings. He had never laid eyes on anything like it. He wanted ask the Dark Elf what it was, when a sudden movement from the corner of his eyes to his left completely caught him off guard. He froze on the spot and stared wide-eyed up at the humongous dragon and wondered how the hell he hadn’t seen it right away, but as long as it didn’t move, the jagged appearance and color of the beast’s scales and horns had him blend flawlessly into the surroundings.  
  
“You have it. The Kel, the Elder Scroll,” the Dragon said and a visible shudder rustled its scales. “Tiid kreh…galos. Tiime shudders at its touch. There is no question that you are doom-driven!” To add to his confusion, the dragon did not sound angry, but was rather amused, baring its teeth in an odd sort of grin before it locked its gaze on the startled High Elf.  
  
“I hope you don’t mind I brought company, Paarthurnax.” Ganir couldn’t help but grin at Ondolemar who stared at the dragon in disbelief, but more at ease now he knew that Paarthurnax was an ally. “This is Ondolemar. He has helped me obtain the Elder Scroll. What do we need do now?”  
  
“Geh. Fahliil. You have interesting company for certain, Dovahkiin, but tinvaak must wait.” Paarthurnax’s throat rumbled and Ondolemar could only identify the sound as something close to a chuckle. He still had a hard time believing an ancient, live dragon stood before him, which defied logic in its own right, but the beast spoke and seemed serene of nature. He didn’t think such a thing were possible, but what did he really know of dragons?  
   
Paarthurnax, in the meantime, had turned his attention back to Ganir. “Kogaan Akatosh. The very bones of the earth are at your disposal, Dovahkiin,” said the ancient dragon. “Go. Fulfill your destiny. Take the Scroll to the Time-Wound. Do not delay! Alduin will be coming.”  
  
“What? Do you mean Alduin is coming?!” Ganir exclaimed.  
  
“He will. He cannot miss the signs, so hurry!” Paarthurnax urged. “I will do what I can.”  
  
Ganir gave Ondolemar a sharp look. “Stay back,” he warned while he pulled the Elder Scroll out his bag, of which half the end stuck out. “And if anything happens. Run.”  
  
Ondolemar swallowed, his eyes shooting back and forth between Ganir and the dragon, whose eyes were fixated on the Dark Elf. Ganir had carefully pulled the Elder Scroll out of his bag and held it tight when he felt the pull between the Scroll and the Time-Wound near the crescent-shaped wall where a sort ‘ripple’ was palpable.  
  
The Dark Elf’s body went rigid when he felt a heavy pounding in his chest as though the Elder Scroll had breathed life into him once more when he stood at the Time-Wound. With shaking, sweaty hands, he unfolded the scroll and closed his eyes to shield them from the intricate, undecipherable and numerous writings that began to glow so bright it definitely would have blinded him had he not been prepared.  
  
His body felt like it was being torn apart and held in place all the same, stretching not only the fabric of existence around him, but also within him and that which was part of him and his surroundings.  
He felt about to throw up, but opened his eyes when the nausea instantly subsided and he felt solid ground under his feet.  
  
He initially feared the vessels in his eyes had popped, causing the blurry, red-stained vision and the burning sensation in his eyes, but it didn’t take him long to realize that while he had not specifically gone anywhere, he had gone back in time to the peak of the Throat of the World and that the skies were ablaze with flame. The skies were dotted with the black silhouettes of countless dragons in the sky, flying far and near around the mountain.  
  
Ganir instinctively made to duck when a dragon flew overhead, but found that he could not move and the beast’s tail went straight through him before it landed in the snow to fight two Nords, of which one was a woman, wielding a blade and the other a male, wielding a two-handed, large axe.   
  
“Gormlaith!” The man cried to the woman who looked eager to fight the dragon. “We’re running out of time! The battle…”

“Daar sul thur se Alduin vokrii. Today Alduin’s lordship will be restored!” The dragon bared its teeth in a snarl. “But I honor your courage. Krif voth ahkrin. Die now, in vain.”  
  
“For Skyrim!” The man roared after the two Nords dove out the way from the flames erupting from the dragon’s maw. After getting back to their feet and having gathered themselves, Gormlaith and her companion charged the dragon’s flanks.   
  
The dragon rammed the man with his head, but in the momentum of that turn, Gormlaith took a running jump to kick the dragon’s maw shut when it made to devour the man. She held on to the beast’s horn who shook its head to get her off of him. “Know that Gormlaith sent you down to death!” Gormlaith bellowed before she plunged her blade through the dragon’s skull, killing it instantly.  
  
She was fierce and fearless, her golden-blonde mane a tangled and bloodied mess. She pulled her blade out the dead dragon’s skull, laughing. “Hakon! A glorious day, is it not?”  
  
Hakon, the Nord male, glared at her as he saw no reason for celebration (yet) for many of their comrades lay dead. A large amount of corpses were strewn around them, staining the snow and stone red with blood of both humans and dragons. “Have you no thought beyond the bloodying of your blade?”   
  
_Is this…the Dragon War?_ Ganir wondered.  
  
“What else is there?” she laughed.   
  
“These men all lie _dead_!” Hakon snapped at her, and the grin was swept off her face instantly. “The battle below goes ill. If Alduin does not rise to our challenge, I fear all may be lost.”  
  
“You worry too much, brother,” she assured him, her determination unwavering but her tone and attitude far more serious now. “Victory will be ours.”  
  
Hakon then turned to a third person, a man clad in robes who stood just behind Ganir. “Why does Alduin hang back, Felldir? We’ve staked everything on this plan of yours, old man.”  
  
“He _will_ come.” Felldir didn’t sound or look as confident as he wanted too, keeping his eyes on the sky. “He cannot ignore our defiance. And why should he fear us, even now?”  
  
“We’ve bloodied him well.” Gormlaith said, her chest bursting with pride. “Four of his kin have fallen to my blade alone this day.”  
  
Felldir’s eyes shot fire at the female. “But none have yet stood against Alduin himself. Galthor, Sorri, Birkir…I don’t think you have the slightest comprehension…”  
  
Gormlaith scoffed, “They did not have Dragonrend. Once we bring him down, I _promise_ I will have his head.”  
  
“You do not understand,” the Nord clad in robes shook his head, clearly irritated. “Alduin cannot be slain like a lesser dragon. He is beyond our strength. Which is why I brought the Elder Scroll…” Only now did Ganir see that Felldir didn’t just have a staff strapped to his back, but the Elder Scroll as well. The very same one he held in his hands…or, wait…where had it gone? But he could still feel it in his hands. Ganir hissed and swore when a sharp, cutting pain shot through his head and blood poured from his nose. _This had to be the effects Sep’s book warned about…It hurts!_ In spite of that, Ganir refused to give in just because it hurt a little. He needed to know the Shout.  
  
Hakon’s eyes went wide. “Felldir, we agreed not to use it!”

“ _I_ never agreed,” Felldir’s arrogance was aggravating the other Nords. “And if _you_ are right, I will not need it.”  
  
“No!” Hakon’s temper flared. “We will deal with Alduin ourselves. Here and _now_!”  
  
Gormlaith had kept an eye on the horizon, noticing how the dragons kept flying overhead or around the summit, but not approaching them. She soon saw why as an enormous, pitch-black and red-eyed shadow came flying towards them. “Alduin approaches!”  
  
The massive dragon made the mountain itself shake when it landed on the Word Wall. Alduin’s eyes narrowed, glaring down at the three ancient Nords who had dared defy him so brazenly, killing his subjects and followers.  
“Meyye! Tahrodiis aanne! Him hinde pah liiv! Zu’u hin daan!” Alduin’s roar thundered through the skies and even Ganir could feel the strength of it in his chest, recognizing the Shout that followed the roar right away, as it was the same Alduin had used to lay Helgen to waste.  
The thunder’s impact was deafening and the jagged lightning shot bright through the skies, creating a mesmerizing but deadly palette of colors.   
  
Ganir wasn’t going to lie. It was terrifying, but neither of the three Nords would be deterred. “Let those that watch from Sovngarde envy us this day!” Gormlaith bellowed, looking at her companions, who nodded, and joined together, they took sharp breaths before, in choir, they Shouted, “JOOR ZAH FRUL!”  
  
The very essence of this Shout came nowhere near Ganir, but it was nothing like those he knew. None of those Words he had learned and heard stirred a most inner, wicked beast deep within him, making his blood boil and it caused an excruciating sensation of venomous hatred that devoured him from the inside.  
  
Alduin had leapt to fly off, but the Shout struck true and the dragon was forced to the ground, flapping his wings uncontrollably as if trying to shake something off him. “Nivahriin joore! What have you done?!” Alduin bellowed, enraged but also terrified of this horrible sense of helplessness overwhelmed him as this power held him in its wicked grasp. “What twisted Words have you created?! Tahrodiis Paarthurnax! MY TEETH TO HIS NECK!” His eyes thinned to blazing, red slits of pure, venomous rage. They would pay for this humiliating, terrifying feeling that still chilled him so. “But first…dir ko maar. You will _die_ in terror, knowing your final fate… To _feed_ my power when I come for you in Sovngarde!”  
  
“If I die today, it will not be in terror!” Gormlaith charged for Alduin and jumped out the way when the beast snapped its jaws at her, side-stepping the enormous maw. Her blade lashed him across the side of his face and blood spattered everywhere. “I can see it in your eyes, worm. You feel the fear, knowing this is your final hour!”  
  
“Skyrim will be free!” Hakon cried and he charged at the dragon as well, but Alduin’s jaws snapped shut around Gormlaith and he slammed Hakon against the nearby wall with his wing. Felldir stood frozen in fear and helpless, forced to witness how Gormlaith was brutally torn in two and her remains were sent flying.  
  
“No! Damn you!” Hakon roared and he ran towards the dragon again. His eyes widened when the black dragon spat fire at him and he dove out of the way, into the snow to avoid being burned to ashes by the white-hot inferno. Bloodied from the hours of toil and battle, he realized with dread he had no other choice because he stood no chance against this monster alone, let stand defeat it. “Felldir!” he cried, giving in to his despair, “Use the Scroll! Now!”  
  
As if snapped from the nightmare he had just witnessed, Felldir grabbed hold of the Elder Scroll and raised it while Hakon gathered all his courage, knowing this would be his death and attacked Alduin to divert his attention from the ancient Nord mage.  
   
“Behold, Alduin on the Wing!” Felldir cried out. “Sister Hawk, grant us your sacred breath to make this contract heard! Begone, World-Eater!”  
  
The dragon felt his whole body tense when an unknown, but most powerful force seemed to grab hold of him and his head snapped to the damned mage who held the Scroll after he ran Hakon through with one of his wing talons. “You cannot hope to banish me, joorre!” Alduin growled. “YOL TOOR SHUL!”  
  
But the flames never hit their mark because the Scroll was too powerful for his flames and brushed past the ancient Nord who was now terrified by the fate that would await him. Hakon had fallen, pierced by the talons of Alduin’s wings. Determined to succeed and avenge his comrades in this fashion, even if the Elder Scroll and its power took its toll on his body, Felldir did not relent. “By the words with older bones than your own we break your perch on this age and cast you out! You are banished, Alduin, we shout you out from all our endings unto the last!”  
  
“Ganir…Ganir!” He felt the veil of time thin out and he was forced to his knees by the intensity of it when the Scroll’s hold broke. Ondolemar caught him, visibly shaken that Ganir had been so badly affected by the Scroll. Blood poured from the Dark Elf’s nose, and he was shaking with cold and fatigue. “We have to get out of here, now!”  
  
Dazed and his vision blurry, the Dark Elf had no idea of what was going on at first, until he saw Paarthurnax  to his right, perched on the Word Wall. A block of ice sank in his stomach when he looked up and saw Alduin in still flight above them. “Bahloki nahkip sillesejoor. My belly is full of the souls of your fellow mortals, Dovahkiin!” Alduin taunted. “Die now and await your fate in Sovngarde!”  
  
“Lost funt!” Paarthurnax bellowed defiantly in spite of his fear. He had known Alduin would come, but he had not expected so soon, nor that the black dragon still instilled such fear within him. “You are too late, Alduin!”  
  
When Alduin dove to attack the two Elves who made a run for it, Paarthurnax leapt off the Word Wall and rammed into Alduin. His jagged teeth tore at the black dragon and kicked his hind-legs against his opponent before flying off, buying the two elves enough time to get away because Alduin was forced to turn away mid-air from his assault.  
  
“Dovahkiin! Use Dragonrend if you know it!” Paarthurnax cried before he flew after Alduin.   
  
“Paarthurnax, you have defied me for the last time!” Alduin snarled. He made a sharp turn mid-air and turned the tables, chasing Paarthurnax. Whenever they got close to one another, the skies were lit up by the flames and other bellowed Shouts. Their claws tore away at each other’s scales and hides and they struck each other with their spiked tails. “My time has come again. You cannot stop me!”  
  
“Unslaad hokoron!” Paarthurnax snarled. “Never again!”  
  
“Run, Ondolemar, get out of here!” Ganir yelled at Ondolemar before he ran off, dreading what he knew he had to do. The words rang clear in his mind and it immediately began to tear away at his inner being like an acidic venom, filling him with all the anger and hatred he had ever felt in his life until it boiled over, pouring into those three words, “JOOR ZAH FRUL!”   
  
The Shout struck Alduin and he plummeted out of the sky, skidding over the snow-clad summit and crashed into the stone peak of the mountain.   
  
Paarthurnax dove after Alduin and intended to pin him down but Alduin rolled back on his side and snapped his jaws at the brown dragon, who leapt back in time lest his throat get ripped out.   
  
“Come and face me then, Alduin!” Ganir bellowed at the black dragon even if he was shaking in his boots now he knew what being he was facing. “FUS RO DAH!”  
  
“YOL TOOR SHUL!” Alduin’s powerful flames countered the powerful Shout in equal force, causing a wave of energy that briefly distorted their sense of balance. The black dragon laughed, “Your Thu’um has grown powerful, joorre, but you are no Dov! FO KRAH DIN!”   
  
“YOL TOOR SHUL!” When the opposing elements of Ganir’s fiery breath and Alduin’s frozen, snow, ice and stone were sent flying in the wake of its impact. But Alduin was far too powerful for Ganir, who knew if he relented know, risked being obliterated by the sheer force of the black dragon’s Voice.  
  
Against all expectations, however, it was not Paarthurnax, who came to his aid, but Ondolemar who shoved Ganir out of the way, dragging him away from harm and the two Elves rolled over the jagged stones. The unrelenting force of Alduin’s icy breath obliterated the Word Wall behind them.  
   
Alduin leapt up to pounce the two Elves and devour them, but Paarthurnax came in between. “FUS ROH!” Paarthurnax then pinned Alduin down and the two dragons tore away at each other’s scales and hides. The mountain shook as the dragons fought, their bodies coiling, writhing an ripping at each other’s bodies.  
  
“I told you to _run_ , damnit!” Ganir snapped at Ondolemar after seeking refuge behind the remains of the Word Wall.   
  
“I’m not letting you do this alone!” Ondolemar yelled back, startled by the sudden spatter of blood that flew in their direction.   
  
Paarthurnax cried out in anguish when Alduin sunk his teeth into the brown dragon’s neck. Without a second thought, Ganir bolted towards the two, fighting dragons, fearing for his life, but he wouldn’t let Paarthurnax, his ally, down. He threw one of his daggers at Alduin, forcing the black dragon to pull away lest he loose an eye, “YOL TOOR SHUL!” The flames forced Alduin to retreat, but in spite of that he laughed.  
  
“Your Thu’um has grown powerful, Dovahkiin,” Alduin taunted, his black scales glistening with blood, which also dripped from his maw. “But I assure you that you will fail like you have done before and I shall feast on the souls of your beloved!”   
  
“Then come down here and fight me, you cowardly wyrm!” Ganir bellowed. Alduin had been merciless and brutal in his attempt to rid the world of Paarthurnax, who had dealt severe and powerful blows that left Alduin just as injured as he.   
  
Alduin laughed in spite of the pain. “Meyz mul, Dovahkiin. You have become strong, but are still arrogant. I am Al-Du-In, Firstborn of Akatosh! Mulaagi zok lot! Let us see how truly determined you are…”  
  
At first, Ganir thought Alduin dove towards him in an attempt to devour him, but he made a sudden, sharp turn and dove towards Ondolemar, who had beheld the scene from the Word Wall. He stood no chance to evade the black dragon’s tail that smashed against the remains of the Word Wall. The impact of the shattering stone and debris flying anywhere knocked Ondolemar off his balance, stumbling back towards the edge of the mountain. The High Elf cried out when the gust of wind from the massive wings gave the final push and he looked down to see what demise would greet him thousands of meters below.  
  
In that split second, Ganir was caught between chasing after Alduin, pin him down with the Dragonrend Shout and end it, but when he saw Ondolemar on the edge of the summit, about to fall, he made his decision. “WULD NA KEST!”   
  
Ondolemar closed his eyes and prepared himself for the endless fall to his death when a strong pair of arms pulled him back and he knew right away it was Ganir, whom he clung too with all his strength, even when they both tumbled back onto the ground. Terrified and still feeling death’s touch on him, he refused to let go of Ganir, who had not just prevented a horrible fate to befall him, but also kept him safe in his arms.  
  
The High Elf expected a sarcastic, mocking remark or told he could ‘let go and get off now’, but Ganir showed no sign of letting him go either, digging his claws into his back and shoulder.  
  
“Lot…krongrah.” Blood dripped from nasty-looking gashes on the dragon’s flanks and his maw, but the worst wound had to be in his neck, where Alduin had sunk his teeth into his flesh. The ancient dragon was exhausted, beaten but not broken. “You truly have the Voice of a Dovah. Alduin’s allies will think twice after this victory…”  
  
“Ondolemar…Paarthurnax…” Ganir’s eyes shot from Paarthurnax back to Ondolemar. “Are you all right?”  
  
“I’m alive…” The High Elf swallowed, shivering more from fear than anything else. “I would’ve been dead were it not for you.”  
  
“Geh,” said the dragon. “Zu'u lost aus volz ahraan. I will survive…I always have…And we were victorious…”  
  
“So much for a victory.” Ganir grit out. “Alduin escaped.”   
  
“Nii liivrah hin moro. True, this is not the final krongrah, victory. But not even the heroes of old were able  to defeat Alduin in open battle.” When Paarthurnax made to walk towards the Word Wall to perhaps seek some refuge or comfort, the two elves noticed the limp and both got up to help him. The beast shook its head, too proud but after a gander, the Dark Elf saw that the blood made the wounds seem far more grave than they were, save for the deep gash in the dragon’s neck. “Alduin was always pahlok, arrogant, in his power,” Paarthurnax’s tongue lapped the blood up to clean the wounds. “Uznahgar paar. He took domination as his birthright…” Paarthurnax bared his teeth in a most satisfied grin. “This should shake  the loyalty of the dov who serve him.”

“Let me help you…” Ganir chest rumbled when he growled back at Paarthurnax who again made to refuse his offer to help him. The Dark Elf tore a piece of his tunic off and swept the blood from the wound in Paarthurnax’ neck. After looking at the wound and stopping it from bleeding too badly, he saw that the hole in the dragon’s neck was most likely left by one of Alduin’s teeth. It looked nasty and painful, but it would heal. His anger didn’t simmer in spite of this, however. Alduin had nearly killed Ondolemar, hurt Paarthurnax and he had escaped. “We both bloodied and burned that damn worm and he still got away. Where did he go, Paarthurnax?”  
  
Paarthurnax shook his head. “I do not know, but his closest allies may…” The dragon clacked his teeth together in brief contemplation. ”Motmahus…Convincing one of them to betray Alduin shan’t be easy, however…” A visible shudder went through Paarthurnax’ body and he finally gave in to the pain, weakened by the loss of blood and he laid down, resting his head on a stone.  
   
“Paarthurnax!” Ganir barely knew this dragon. He didn’t even know he could trust the beast, but from the moment he had met Paarthurnax, he had felt a deep connection which he knew was linked to the dragon blood coursing through his cursed veins. Seeing a majestic beast, who was also his friend, so weakened and in so much pain was terrible to behold.   
  
Paarthurnax’s good eye held an odd flicker when he regarded the Dark Elf. “Kos ahst forveyk…Worry not, Dovahkiin. I’m old, not dying.”   
  
“Are you sure?” The Dark Elf gently stroked the dragon’s nose. Blood, hot air and the stench of embers and sulphur emanated from the beast’s nostrils.  
  
“Hi yirt! Bonu!” Paarthurnax winced when he let out an involuntary snort. “Go, Dovahkiin. Capture one of Alduin’s allies and find him before he returns with renewed strength. I shan’t be able to assist you the next time.”  
  
“I will make him pay,” Ganir promised as he stood upright. “I promise.” It took him some effort to turn and walk away from Paarthurnax, but he also respected the dragon’s pride and desire to lick his wounds in peace.  
  
Ondolemar looked at the dragon before he too turned to leave, glancing at Paarthurnax over his shoulder. “It was an honor, Paarthurnax. Thank you.”  
   
The dragon gave a small nod. “Ven aak hi, fahliil. Lingraav avok mok.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

**Kos ahst forveyk –** Be at ease **  
Ven aak hi, fahliil. Lingraav avok mok** – Wind guide you, elf. Watch over him.   
**Hi yirt! Bonu!** – You jest! Begone!  
**Zu'u lost aus volz ahraan –** I have suffered worse wounds  
**Meyye! Tahrodiis aanne! Him hinde pah liiv! Zu’u hin daan** – Judging by the crude translation from Thuum.Org, it should say something along the lines of “Treacherous fools! Your lives are at an end. I am your doom!”


	27. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knew how the Thalmor operated and they had most likely thrown an accusation, or anything to have an excuse to blatantly murder what in their eyes, were lesser beings. Nuisances. Vermin.

**Chapter 26**  
  
Ganir sat perched on the top of the Western Watchtower. Strands of his pitch-black hair swayed gently in the cold wind and it shimmered in the light of the moons. Ondolemar and he both intently watched the lit braziers on Whiterun’s walls.   
  
“Do you think they’ll come?” Ondolemar asked after a moment of silence.  
  
“We’ll just have to wait and see.” Ganir replied. “But I think they will…”  
  
After another half an hour of waiting, they both made a little jump to attention and their eyes shot to the city’s gates. A dozen of men on horseback rode out down the road to the South-West, but the braziers held their attention as the flames of two out of the three were extinguished the moment the men left the gate.  
   
It was the signal they had been waiting for. “Let’s hope for the best,” Ganir said to Ondolemar. “Let’s go.”   
  
They made their way to the base of the tower and it wasn’t long before two hooded and cloaked figures approached the tower with the same caution they had practiced. The debris and cover of night and shadows hid Ondolemar and Ganir well. They couldn’t afford to just assume these were the persons they were waiting for.  
   
One of the hooded figures produced a stone from his pocket, and rapped a particular, but simple rhythm that Ganir returned from his hiding place. When both confirmed it was safe, the two Elves emerged from their hiding place and the two cloaked figures pulled their hoods back; it were Jarl Balgruuf and his Housecarl, Irileth.  
  
“So we meet again, Dragonborn,” Balgruuf then regarded the High Elf clad in Thalmor robes. “Ondolemar of Markarth… I never thought I’d live to see the day to witness dissent amongst the Thalmor. Do you know they are out here, looking for you?”   
  
“I am aware.” Ondolemar replied stiffly, concealing his actual emotions very well, but Ganir could tell this deeply troubled him. And with good reason, even if the both of them had known this would come to pass.  
  
“So it is true then?” Balgruuf asked. “Many wild tales circulate about-,”  
  
“We have too little time to discuss rumors, Jarl Balgruuf,” Ganir gave the Nord a sharp look. “And you know it is not why we’ve gathered here.”  
  
“You have me risk the necks of my own and that of my family by coming here in the midst of the night, Dragonborn.” Balgruuf said in a sharp tone. “You owe me answers whether you like it or not.”  
  
“Every second we waste here discussing trivial matters grant Alduin the chance to recover.” Ganir’s eyes shot from Balgruuf to Irileth. “The Thalmor will be the least of your concerns if Alduin recovers from the battle against me and he destroys this world.”  
   
“ _Alduin_?!” Balgruuf’s eyes went wide. “You mean the World-Eater? So he has truly returned? Does it not mean it’s the end times?”  
   
“It does and as the last Dragonborn, I am the only one who can stop it,” Ganir replied. “I fought Alduin on the top of the Throat of the World, but he got away. Only his closest allies know where he has retreated to regain his strength. If I were to trap one of the dragons who serve him in your palace, I will be able to find Alduin.”  
   
“Wait, hold on…” The Jarl waved his hands in front of him, frowning and shaking his head as he didn’t believe his ears. “Did you just tell me you want to _trap_ a dragon in my palace?”   
  
“You heard right,” said the Dark Elf. “I need to find him and strike at him while he is weak. It is my best and only chance to succeed.”  
   
“It was here where you defeated the dragon that could have laid my city and hold to waste. For this alone I am indebted to you, but…” The Jarl ran a hand through his coarse, blond mane, clearly frustrated. “The problem is that I cannot help you while Tullius and Ulfric are on my doorstep, just waiting for me to slip up. Do you think either will sit idle while a dragon burns down my city and kills my people? I can’t risk weakening the city while we are under such a grave threat...”  
  
“What if you needn’t worry about an attack from the Stormcloaks or the Empire?” Ondolemar quipped.  
  
“Good luck with that,” Irileth snorted. “The bitterness has run too deep between them. On top of that, the Hold is crawling with the Thalmor who watch our every move…It took a great deal of planning and scheming for us to even sneak out here and meet you.”  
   
“Irileth is right,” Balgruuf spat on the ground at the mention of the Thalmor. “Even if you were able to get both sides to agree to a truce so you can proceed with your mad dragon-trapping scheme, when the Thalmor find out about your plans, you and I both know they won’t shy from any means to sabotage it all.”  
   
“If you act with discretion, they won’t suspect a thing. Once a truce is settled, the Thalmor won’t have a foot to stand on.” Ganir could tell Ondolemar was bluffing, but all that mattered now was that the Jarl and his Housecarl were convinced they had a solid plan that would work.   
  
“When we convince Tullius and Ulfric to negotiate a truce, _where_ would we meet?” Ganir twirled his fingers around his beard in contemplation. “It would have to be hosted by a neutral party on neutral ground… Who would have enough sway and influence over Skyrim and is actually impartial…?”  
  
“The Greybeards, of course, Dragonborn,” said Balgruuf, slightly annoyed as it lay so beforehand. “They are respected by all Nords and their monastery is neutral territory. If the Greybeards were willing to host a peace council, then maybe Ulfric and Tullius would have to listen. But that still does not eliminate the danger of the dragon burning down my city. My men are brave, but they’re not equipped to fight a dragon and despite all his research, I don’t think Farengar is capable enough…We would need a powerful mage, or multiple, to protect our city.”  
   
“Ancano, the Arch-Mage of Winterhold,” Ganir said after he and Ondolemar met eyes. “He is most capable and experienced in both affairs of magic and dragons.”  
   
“I don’t like the sound of any of this…Trapping a dragon in my palace? A truce to end this war?! But as a son of Skyrim, I cannot ignore the prophecies about Alduin or the news of his return. I trust you to fulfill your end of the bargain, Dragonborn. Alduin must be stopped, if such a thing is even possible…” Balgruuf’s hard, blue-grey eyes met with the Dunmer’s dark-red ones. “I will prepare my men to grease the chains of the trap while you arrange for the Stormcloaks and Imperials to convene at High Hrothgar and negotiate a truce. We will be ready.”  
   
“Very well,” Ganir nodded. “I shall contact you as soon as possible when I know more.”  
  
“Until then, Dragonborn. The fate of the world lies in your hands.” With that, the Jarl of Whiterun pulled his hood back over his head and walked out.  
  
Irileth seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then let out an irritable sigh. She unclasped her hooded cloak and tossed it to the High Elf, who caught it and shot her a questioning look. “You stand out like Rockjoint on a whore, High Elf,” Irileth said. “I’ve diverted the Thalmor’s attention to the south-west where they pursue the claims of Talos-worshipping bandits. And speaking of rumors…” She looked at Ganir. “The tales of events that surround you are vague and contradictory and I don’t know what to believe or think of them or you as of yet. But know that the Jarl has placed a great deal of trust in you and is placing the fate of Whiterun and its people in your hands. Act with discretion, or the Thalmor will act before you can achieve anything. They are on your trail.”  
   
The Dark Elf’s face contorted as a sour, foul and bitter taste filled his mouth, but he nodded nevertheless. “You should be on your way as we will be on ours.”  
  
With that Irileth turned and walked away to rejoin her Jarl, who had waited outside. Only when the Jarl and his Housecarl were out of earshot, did Ondolemar speak. “We’d waste too much valuable time travelling back High Hrothgar together,” he said. “You should ride back to the monastery and I’ll ride back to Winterhold so I can inform Ancano.”  
  
“I know you’re right, but…I don’t really like the idea of splitting up. Not one bit.” Ganir grumbled.  
   
“Neither do I…” Ondolemar said. “But if we split up…like Irileth said, they’re looking for the _two_ of us and they’re off south-west. It will buy us both enough time.”  
  
“Then we best hurry.” Ganir said and with a nod, the two of them rode off on separate ways once they reached Fort Amol, where Ondolemar would ride further east through the barren wastelands marked with hot springs that reeked of sulphur. He left a trail of dust in his wake as the hooves of the stolen horse stomped down on the cracked, dry earth and he was determined to make it to Winterhold at least by dawn. He had been riding for a good hour or so when his ears rang from the sudden loud cries and screams somewhere nearby.  
  
The Altmer swore under his breath, startled just as much as his mount who nearly threw him off, but he managed to calm the equine with a simple spell. When the screaming didn’t stop, Ondolemar was briefly caught in a conflict. He had to make it to Winterhold as fast as possible, but against his better judgement, he couldn’t carry on in good conscience, knowing someone was in danger and he dismounted.  
“Get away from me! Leave me alone!” The girl who had screamed had all reason to be as distraught and terrified as she was, surrounded by three Thalmor soldiers. At her feet, lay three dead Nords, a man and two women. She had to be about sixteen years old and her red hair was a tousled mess. Ondolemar didn’t have to guess what had happened. He knew how the Thalmor operated and had most likely thrown an accusation, or anything to have an excuse to blatantly murder what in their eyes, were lesser beings. Nuisances. Vermin.  
  
The red-haired girl held a bloodied axe in both her shaking hands in a desperate, futile attempt to make a stand and keep the elves away from her. The Thalmor soldiers laughed and exchanged their words in the Altmer tongue. “We should gut and hang the mongrel for the locals to enjoy,” said one of them.   
  
“Or we just rape her and let the shame do the rest…” A malicious smirk crept on the lips of the second.  
  
“Could you honestly bring yourself to touch something that… _filthy_?” The third one’s expression was one as though his comrade had just suggested he eat dung.

“Doesn’t matter. Just think of your finest Alinor courtesan…” The girl must have known she would never make her mark because the soldier easily slammed the axe out of her hands before he backhanded her. She began to scream and cry for help when he grabbed a fistful of her red hair and forced her to the ground. Her fists made no impact whatsoever because he was clad in armor and he pinned her down in no time, tearing at her bodice with a dagger in such an expertise fashion it sickened her to the stomach. She didn’t even dare to beg for mercy in fear of throwing up but even as she protested, all she could manage was whimper and cry.  
  
When he forced her legs to part, she squeezed her eyes shut. She knew what was going to come but didn’t want to see, praying she would pass out so she wouldn’t have to suffer through the pain and humiliation that would await her…if they didn’t kill her.  
  
What she did not expect to hear or feel, however, was the sudden thunder of hooves that shook the ground. Of the two Thalmor that had looked on, one fell dead to the ground as a blade lashed over the weak spot in the back of his armor, crippling and bloodying him. The other threw himself out of the horse’s way and to the ground lest he get trampled. The horse was now headed for her and the elf who had intended to rape her, leapt away. In that moment, the girl’s eyes opened and went wide. The armored stallion closed in on her, kicking up the dirt as the hooves beat down like a drum. On the majestic beast’s back rode a tall, hooded stranger, clad in black and gold. He steered the horse to the right last minute and leaned forward, stretching his arm out for her to grab. The choice was easy; life or death and she stretched both her arms out and the stranger pulled her onto the horse’s back in front of him. While she tried to seat herself properly, the stranger held her tight so she wouldn’t fall off and he raced off with her.  
   
“You’re safe. Just hold on tight and I’ll get us out of here!” The man glanced over his shoulder and when she had a gander herself as well, she saw that it wasn’t over by far as the remaining Thalmor had recovered and were hot on their trail, also on horseback.  
   
“They got bows ‘n arrows!” She told him.  
  
She had heard the tales of elven marksmanship, how they could even fire arrows on horseback and she watched how one of the Thalmor soldiers knocked an arrow and pulled the string back, ready to fire.  
  
“Stay low!” The stranger pulled her back, shielding her with his body and pushed her down onto the horse. She heard the whistle of the arrow and screamed when it nearly hit them. The dead tree’s bark splintered when the arrow lodged itself into the wood and they kept riding. “We’ll get out of this, I promise.”   
  
The stranger’s robes and cloak billowed around them as they rode at full speed, making it hard for her to tell what was going on. “Don’t let them get away!” She heard a Thalmor yell from the distance. “Get him!”  
  
But the stranger did not relent or give up and pushed the horse’s limits, forcing it to jump over dead trees, creeks and through the thorn bushes which tore away at her hair and judging by the stranger’s swearing, at his face. The ground below her was a blur and all she heard was the thunder of the horses’ hooves and her heart. She dared look up and past the horse’s neck. “Tha’s a Giant’s camp! Steer the other way! They’ll smash us to bits they will!”   
  
But the stranger only urged the horse to speed up. The giants, native only to Skyrim’s wastelands, were a peaceful lot as long as they did not feel threatened and one did not harm their mammoths whom they treated with fondness even if cattle.  
  
One of the two giants sat at the fire rose to its full length when it saw the elves rode towards his camp, far too close to his mammoths. He was a good twenty feet tall, with leathery skin and a beard decorated with bones and skulls of all kinds. His bright eyes narrowed and grabbed hold of its crude, massive club which he raised in warning, accompanied by a series of heavy grunts and growls. When the stranger did not relent, the girl threw her arms around the horse’s neck, bracing for the impact of the giant’s club, but the stranger was a skilled rider, and the horse too fast. The giant missed.   
  
The Thalmor in pursuit of them were less fortunate, however, because when the archer fired the arrow, the Giant flew into a rage as it whistled past him by mere inches. He turned around and swung his club at them. Though she could not see what happened, judging by the horses’ whinnying and their cries, he had hit (one of) them. But another cry came from behind her as the stranger swore profoundly and reached for his back. An arrow had struck true and had penetrated the thick layer of leather and wool.   
  
“We got ta stop!” she said to him, trying to look him in the eye.   
  
“No. Can’t risk it…” he grit out. “Got to keep going…to Winterhold…”  
  
“Winterhold?! Is tha where yer’ takin’ me?! But-,!”  
  
“Not the time to argue…” The stranger panted, his breath growing ragged. With every step the horse took, his body tensed from the pain and he struggled to stay conscious. The arrow had to be buried deep! “…Ganir’s counting on me.”

“Look. Me da’s taught me how ta ride,” said the girl. “Just lemme take the reins from ye and I’ll take us there!”  
  
The stranger laughed. “I’ll be counting on you then…?”  
  
“The name’s Fjönn. Just don’t go dyin’ on me, all right?” Fjönn tried to sound brave but she was terrified and still so upset and confused. And they were still in danger! She fumbled to take hold of the reins. “Winterhold…Winterhold…”

“Just keep heading North,” The stranger said to her, who tried not to lean on her too much. “Past Windhelm, just keep…North.”  
  
“Aye. You just save yer strength eh?” She said to him. “Stay with me.”  
  
A grimace graced the face she could not see. “I’ll try.”   
  
They kept riding, but were not far from Kynesgrove when the stranger’s body slumped against her, but Fjönn noticed too late and couldn’t grab onto him in time. With a loud thud, he fell unconscious and off the horse.  
  
“Caaalm down…Oi! Calm down!” It took Fjönn effort to calm the horse down, but when she hopped off and took the horse’s reins, turning to aid the stranger, her blood ran cold.  
  
_No…Impossible…What in the…_ With shaking hands, she pulled the stranger’s hood back. She had recognized the robes he wore; a Thalmor, and the stranger who had saved her was a High Elf. _But why…? Who are you?  
_    
Her mind reeled with a dozen of questions as she stared at the elf’s handsome face. If he was a Thalmor, why had he just attacked his own comrades to save her? ‘The best knife-ear is a dead one’ her da would say. But this elf…he was different.   
  
“Oi…wake up…” With shaking hands, she gently slapped him on the cheek, but the elf did not wake, his face contorted into a grimace. “Please don’t be dead…”  
  
Relief washed over her when she found that he was still breathing and felt his heartbeat, but he needed help, and fast! She pulled her hand back as if burned when she made to lift him onto the horse’s back again. The blood had drenched the back of his robes and now stained her hand. She looked back to where they had come from, fearing that the Thalmor would close in on them any second and in the distance ahead of them, where she could see the shadow of Windhelm.   
  
Because the horse was giving her a hard time, she first had to tie its reins around a nearby tree branch so it would hold still. But then there was the next challenge. She was a hardy girl who had lived her life on a farm, but to lift a full-grown, tall elf onto a horse, that was another story. She had no idea how she managed and as unceremonious and ungraceful as the elf lay swung over the saddle, the horse could carry him now without him falling off. It would just have to do.   
  
“Just hang on…Please, by Talos just hang on. I’ll get help.” With that promise made, Fjönn walked off towards Windhelm. _Ma…Da…_ As she walked towards the dark, ancient and stone city, the reality of all that had just transpired hit her hard.  
  
Her parents were dead, murdered by elves who had made the most ridiculous and false of accusations. Yes, they supported the Stormcloaks. Yes, they worshipped Talos, but they were farmers and had no means to smuggle weapons! When the Thalmor threatened to hurt her and her mother, her father had stepped in, but he was struck down. It was disgusting and terrifying how easily and unflinching the elves had killed him and how she had stood staring in disbelief, frozen as the life left her da’s eyes.  
   
The screams of her mother still rung loud in her ears, telling her to run and shoving her in an attempt to urge her daughter to do so. She squeezed her eyes shut and cursed herself for crying, wiping the tears away but her shoulders shook with sobs and her legs almost gave. _No. Tears won’t solve a thing._ She berated herself. _But I can’t do this alone!_  
  
“Anyone! Please just anyone help me! I can’t do this alone!” She cried through her choked sobs. The cold lashed at her skin. She tried to cover herself up and shield herself from the elements but her dress was torn up and her legs wouldn’t cooperate. She was nauseous to the core and every sound made her jump, fearing the Thalmor had caught up with them.  
  
“Ralof! Come look!”   
  
She hadn’t even heard the three men who came running and she let out a small cry, startled by their sudden appearance. “S-S-St-Stay back!” She gripped the reins of the horse so tight her nails dug into the palm of her hand and her knuckles had gone white.  
   
“Hold on lass…” Of the three men, all clad in the same armor, this one had to be the most friendly-looking. He had to be about her father’s age with blond hair, blue eyes and a braided beard. The armor he wore was made of padded leather and bear fur with a blue tabard. “Calm down now…What in Talos’ name happened to you now?”  
  
“Lookit this…” said the bald, battle-scarred oaf. “Looks like she got one of the fucking knife-ears.”  
  
“No! That’s not it at all!” Fjönn slapped the oaf’s hand away when he reached for the elf, much to their confusion. She then grew painfully aware that her under gown was rather visible and she tried to pull her dress back in order to a degree to cover herself. “He saved my _life._ Don’t y’dare lay a finger on ‘m!” Her voice shook. “Had it not been for him…” she choked up. “They would have…r-raped me…murdered me. Ma…’n da…”   
  
“You sure you didn’t get knocked over the head girl? Ya know what this is? A ploughing _Thalmor_!” The other Nord was bald with a tattooed scalp. Blue beads and silver Talos charms were woven into his braided, brown beard. He spat on the ground at ‘Thalmor’, glaring at the Elf, before he furrowed his brow at the arrow that protruded from the elf’s back. “Ralof…Ye should have a look at this here.”  
  
The kind, blond-haired man gestured for Fjönn to stay calm. “We won’t hurt him, all right? I’m just going to have a look…Gjurd…give her your cloak. The poor thing’s freezing.”  
  
Fjönn’s grey eyes shot fire at Gjurd and though she was freezing, she did not trust these men, even if they were Stormcloaks. She wouldn’t let them kill the man who had saved her life. Ralof’s eyes shot from the girl to the arrow lodged in the elf’s back, furrowing his brow. “That’s a Thalmor arrow all right. Poisoned. Just what happened girl? What’s your name?”  
  
“Fjönn…” She could no longer hold back her tears. “Please…help ‘m…He’s gonna die if ye don’t…”  
  
“All right, all right… Calm down…” Ralof made to comfort the girl, but pulled his hands away from her when she stiffed at his touch while he had but intended to rub her shoulders to warm her up. “What happened to ya lass? Did he…?”  
  
“Ulfric will have yer head if ya brought the bastard to the city...” Said the bearded Nord.  
  
“I doubt this one will give us trouble Bronnjulf and something tells me this one’s not a friend of the Thalmor…” Ralof’s brow remained furrowed as he tried to figure out what had happened, but he was certain Fjönn would tell him if they helped her unexpected savior. “Come with us, lass. We’ll help your friend. We won’t hurt you, or him…I promise…”  
  
When Fjönn frantically shook her head, Ralof smiled in an attempt to be of comfort. “It’s all right, you can stay with him if you like. You ready to go?”  
  
When she nodded, the oafish Stormcloak, Bronnjulf lift the elf over one of his massive shoulders. To him, the elf must’ve been a ragdoll weighing no more than a mere sack of flour and they walked  through Windhelm’s city gates.  
  


* * *

  
When Ondolemar came too, his vision was initially blurry, but this soon faded when his stomach churned and he ‘graciously’ keeled over the edge of the cot he had been laid on to vomit. If this wasn’t enough, the unexpected movement and tensing of his body had him burst out in a colorful variety of swearwords, which were drowned out as he puked again from both nausea and pain, which tore at his shoulder.  
  
“Careful! Do you want to rip yer stitches out?” Fjönn’s voiced carried a mixture of relief and concern. The young Nord girl knelt down at his side and helped the elf back onto his side onto the cot. “Healer said ‘twould happen…That you’d puke your guts out, but…urgh…”  
   
The red-haired girl covered her mouth, gagging when the stench greeted her nostrils. For a moment Ondolemar thought she had run off to retch herself, but she returned with a bucket and cleaned the mess up. “Where…Where are we?” he asked, propping himself up on an elbow.   
  
“Yer in Windhelm. Had I gone on to Winterhold, you wouldn’t of made it. That arrow was poisoned.” When the High Elf’s eyes widened, she reassured him, “Don’t worry. I told ‘m you saved me life, but…who are you really? You ain’t a Thalmor…”  
  
“I was…” Ondolemar’s smile was bitter. “I’m Ondolemar. I-,”   
  
The both of them looked up at the heavy door that was swung open. Three men stepped in and though Fjönn had told the Stormcloaks that Ondolemar had saved her life, Ondolemar wasn’t so certain it would be enough. The man to the right wore steel, Nordic armor of which the ornaments had worn off from battle. The fur of a dead bear rested on his shoulders and head but it was his appearance as a whole that made him so intimidating. His broad, strong jaw went hidden under a thick, kempt beard. It was the man in the middle, however, that had Ondolemar worried the most.  
  
“Ulfric Stormcloak…” Ondolemar grit out. “We meet again…”   
  
Ulfric’s eyes narrowed. “You have a lot of explaining to do, _elf_.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to lie. Introducing and creating a lot of original characters to a fanfiction is always a risk, but Fjönn will play her part and I hope you'll take a liking to her.
> 
> Once again, thank you for taking your time to read and I hope you enjoyed it. If you like, could you please drop a kudo or a comment to let me know if you liked it or not, and what you think or have questions/suggestions etc.?


	28. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Not now, Ancano.” Ganir hissed in a hushed tone, barely moving his lips. “Try to mind that tongue of yours lest they cut it out. These Nords have even less of a sense of humor than you do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there everyone,
> 
> Welcome to chapter 27 of The Unlikely Companions.
> 
> Thank you once again for taking your time to read. I hope you enjoy! If you did, please leave a comment or a kudo to let me know, or hey, maybe you have some pointers? It's all appreciated.
> 
> Have a nice read and day!

**Chapter 27**  
  
“Me ma ‘n da are dead, Ralof…I dun wanna see ‘m…not like that.” The girl cleared her throat and put on a brave face. “And the healer could use me help he said.”   
  
“I understand, lass. It’s fine.”  
  
“Thank you, Ralof. For everythin’.” Ralof gave Fjönn’s shoulder a comforting, gentle squeeze and shot her a smile. She had been through enough. She didn’t have to see her loved ones like that again.  
  
Thanks to Ondolemar, the girl hadn’t suffered any injuries, but she was still rather shaken and skittish. Not once had she left the High Elf’s side with whom she felt safe and comfortable. She had too little coin to afford a decent burial for her family, but enough to buy amulets of Arkay, the god of the dead, and burial linen. Gjurd, Bronnjulf and Ralof would use these to lay Fjönn’s family to rest.  
  
Ralof firmly believed in the cause of their uprising against the Empire, but he was no longer as naive and idealistic to turn a blind eye to the consequences. Women were widowed and children were orphaned. As a consequence, these would end up on the streets, begging for coin or selling themselves. He tried his hardest to push back what fate could await Fjönn once all this was over, but it was likely she would end up likewise, unless someone took her in. Burying her family for her was the least they could do.  
   
The three Stormcloaks rode to where Fjönn’s family lay dead and confirmed Ralof’s belief it was a good thing the girl hadn’t come along as it would have scarred her even more. The Stormcloaks used ropes to secure the linen around the bodies and lowered them into the separate holes they’d dug. “’tis fucking cruel.” Gjurd leaned on the shovel and wiped the sweat off his brow. He looked at the three graves where Bronnjulf piled some stones on so there was at least some indication it were graves. “What’s gonna happen to her?”  
  
Ralof’s face darkened. He raised his hand and shook his head, “Not now. A moment of silence for the dead…” By now, he had buried so many, Ralof felt he had grown rather desensitized to death. Amongst these dead weren’t just grown men who fell in battle, but families, whose children clung to their mothers’ dresses if they hadn’t died from disease or starvation…or worse.  
   
Gjurd and Bronnjulf were no different in that regard. They too had seen much. But this never stopped them from honoring the dead and looked at the graves in a moment of silence before they turned to leave. It was then they saw two horsemen stand some distance away and though they didn’t appear hostile, it was clear they were waiting for something, or wanted something of them.  
   
One of the men was sat on an armored horse like the High Elf, Ondolemar had and was clad in dark armor and a hood concealed his face, but even over the distance, Ralof could tell this guy was looking straight at him. The other sat on a dappled mare and was taller than the armored figure, clad in triangular, velvet and fur, hooded robes.  
   
The Stormcloaks exchanged looks, the tension palpable. The surroundings didn’t permit for an ambush, so who were these two, who definitely weren’t Thalmor, bandits or merchants? And this was no place for a pilgrimage either…Gjurd and Bronnjulf looked at Ralof when the armored figure signaled he and his companion meant no harm. “Stay here and wait. Cover me if needed,” Ralof said to them and signaled the same back to the horsemen, walking over to meet them halfway. “Respect for the dead, strangers. What do you want?” He had pulled the hood back not only as a common courtesy, but the head of the bearskin on his head and shoulders prevented him to see who he was talking too.  
  
“Ralof? Ralof! It is you!” The stranger clad in dark armor pulled his hood back and revealed a Dark Elf he knew all too well. The both of them grinned at each other.   
  
“Ganir!” Ralof exclaimed and shook the Dark Elf’s hand once he’d dismounted. “It is so good to see you!” He then turned to signal Gjurd and Bronnjulf that everything was all right. “What brings you and this robe here all the way out here of all places?”  
   
“This…’robe’ here is Ancano, the Arch-Mage of Winterhold. Let’s just say I-, well, _we_ have been…busy.” Ralof looked up at the High Elf and though the hood cast a shadow, he could see the silver web-like scars across his face. _What happened to him?_ He wondered. “I’d love to catch up, but listen…a friend of ours was to meet us in Winterhold, but he never arrived. We immediately set out to find him and the trail led us here…We fear the Thalmor may have gotten him.”  
  
Ralof spat on the ground. “Fucking elves…” The High Elf scowled and realizing what he’d said, he apologized. “Nothing personal…” he cleared his throat, cursing his tongue before he could speak, though Ganir didn’t seem too bothered by it. “The Thalmor are all over the damn place. If they got him…” he shuddered to think. “Are you _sure_ your friend came through here?”   
  
“I am…” Ganir looked at Ralof’s men who stood waiting near the graves and he looked over the landscape, scanning the perimeter. “The trail led us here, but it seems to lead…By chance, I don’t suppose you know anything? Seen, or heard…?”   
  
“Well, in all honesty, you appearing here explains a lot. Especially after what happened here,” Ralof pointed at the graves. “Is this friend of yours a tall, bald High Elf with green eyes and a goatee?”   
   
“Please don’t tell me…” Ganir swallowed and looked at the graves. Even the High Elf went pale.  
  
“No, no! Your friend is not dead!” he assured them. “He’s all right. In fact…” Ralof told the two elves what Fjönn had told them, which led to the Thalmor to attack and kill her family and how Ondolemar had saved her in time from being raped and murdered. In their attempt to get away, Ondolemar had gotten injured.  
   
Ancano heaved a sigh of relief, casting his gaze up to the sky and no doubt thanking the gods in his own tongue. “Where is he now?” he asked.   
  
“In Windhelm’s Bloodworks.” Ralof wasn’t too surprise the High Elf scowled to his response. “Regardless of what he did for Fjönn, we, nor Jarl Ulfric can ignore the fact he donned Thalmor robes.”  
  
“But of course, it’s entirely understandable from your point of view.”   
  
_You cheeky, sly fox…_ Ganir suppressed a smirk. He had seen the subtle sway of the High Elf’s long fingers who barely moved his lips as he incanted a spell to charm the unsuspecting Nord.   
“I assure you, however, what competent Thalmor would, in his eyes, waste his time to save a mere peasant girl from his associates? That makes no sense. He is an associate of mine who was working on some delicate matters for the College that required some cloak and dagger.”  
  
“Yes…of course, that makes complete sense.” Ralof nodded. “When we found him and Fjönn, he was badly injured _by_ one of the Thalmor’s arrows and he _did_ say he was on his way to Winterhold. So Jarl Ulfric had a messenger sent to confirm the elf’s claim he wasn’t a Thalmor…But you’ve done just that now.”   
  
“Is Jarl Ulfric present in Windhelm at the moment?” Ganir asked. “We will need to see him, no doubt, to have Ondolemar released. But there’s also another matter I needed to discuss with him.”  
   
“Yes, he is. Why would you need to see the Jarl though?” Ralof frowned. “Are you going to join us? We certainly could use the College as an ally!”  
  
Before Ancano make some snide remark, Ganir raised a hand and spoke instead. “No, the College is a place of learning and has no intention to get caught up in politics,” he said. “But I’ll need you to listen to me for this to make sense. See, not long after Ciri and I left Riverwood and went to Whiterun like we promised your aunt, we got caught up in another dragon attack. We managed to kill it, but something happened when it died…I absorbed its very being into my own.”  
  
“Get out of here! You jest!” Ralof laughed. “Are _you_ the one the Greybeards called from High Hrothgar? I can’t believe what I’m hearing! I mean, I heard the tales of the Dragonborn being a Dark Elf, but not once did I think…it all makes sense now, though. You were there at Helgen when that huge, black dragon appeared! You’ve got to tell me everything!”  
  
“I gladly would,” Ganir smiled, not sure if the Nord was still under the influence of Ancano’s charm spell or not, but he didn’t care. They had to get Ondolemar out of Windhelm. “However, time is short and-,”  
  
“ _RALOF!_ ” They had been so caught up in the conversation that they’d forgotten about the two, other Stormcloaks who now came their way. The bald one with the adorned beard spoke again, “Ysmir’s nutsack, you could’ve called us over instead of hosting a tea-party and keep us waiting. Who are these?”  
  
“Ah, sorry about that.” Ralof pointed at the two Nords, “Meet my brothers-in-arms, Gjurd and Bronnjulf. My comrades, meet Ancano of Winterhold and Ganir. He was the one at Helgen…Speaking of which,” Ralof turned to Ganir. “What of the elven lass that was with us back there? Cirilonde? How is she? Thanks to her, Igritte lived!”  
   
It was far too subtle for the Nords to notice, but Ancano’s grip on the horse’s reins tightened and a twitch tugged at his lips and brow. Ganir shook his head and cast his gaze down, “She is dead. But now is not the time to discuss this. We really need to see Jarl Ulfric about Ondolemar…”  
  
“What, you mean they know that elf that saved Fjönn’s hide?” Gjurd asked.  
  
“Aye, they do,” Ralof confirmed. “Told you he couldn’t be a Thalmor. They just confirmed it. We best get going to Windhelm before dark.”  
   
The men mounted their horses and rode towards Windhelm, which was quite an odd sight as three burly, battle-scarred Nords rode alongside two elves. “None of this would have happened if you hadn’t let him travel alone.” Ancano snapped at Ganir. “You’re lucky that your average Nord is too dense to realize he or she is being charmed.”  
  
“Like I told you a thousand times since we left Winterhold; I. Am. Sorry.” Ganir snapped, clearly frustrated this was brought up again and he rolled his eyes. “Irileth told us they were looking for the _two_ of us and we thought it wise and safer to travel separately so I could go back to High Hrothgar while he went back to Winterhold to inform you. How was I supposed to know he would run into that situation? And that girl was almost raped and murdered, Ancano. What was he supposed to do? Ignore it and ride along?”   
  
“I don’t think you quite realize the severity of how this could have ended.” Ancano’s eyes shot fire at the Dark Elf. “Had they known who he _really_ was, they would have _killed._ Him.” The High Elf heaved a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose when Ganir looked rather miserable as this realization dawned on him. “Let’s just…get to Windhelm and get this over with, but care to explain what business you have with Ulfric?”  
  
Staying out of the Stormcloaks’ earshot, Ganir told Ancano what he hadn’t been able to tell just yet. Upon arriving at Winterhold, Ancano had come outside, asking where Ondolemar was. Furious with the knowledge Ganir had let Ondolemar travel alone, he had saddled Fiona while berating the Dark Elf and stormed off to find his friend so there had been no time to tell him all about Blackreach, the Elder Scroll and the fight against Alduin on the top of the Throat of the World.  
  
“Have you lost your mind?!” Ancano exclaimed with a hiss. His eyes then shot to the Stormcloaks ahead of them to check if they had heard anything, or weren’t eavesdropping. “Trying to gather the Empire and the Stormcloaks at High Hrothgar so you can play ‘trap the dragon’?! Have you even thought-,?!”  
   
“Ancano.” Ganir interrupted him. “Just…trust me on this, all right? Ondolemar and I have a plan best not discussed right now.”  
  
The Altmer made no effort to hide his agitation and rolled his eyes. “Auri-El preserve me. What did I do to deserve this…?” he uttered in his own tongue, casting his gaze up to the sky, even if he agreed now indeed wasn’t the best time to argue. _I just hope you’re all right, Ondolemar…_ he thought, unaware that Ganir felt the exact same way.  
  
There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and as the sun set the horizon became a gorgeous canvas with a red-golden glow, marked by numerous stars to herald the coming of the night. Windhelm’s silhouette was a harsh, dark silhouette against the beautiful view. The buildings were crude and angular. The city’s atmosphere was grim and was surrounded by thick and black, stone walls built to withstand a long-term siege. Windhelm was accessible only by crossing the long, stone bridge built over the White River. Ancano and Ganir knew right away, that had they not been in the company of the Stormcloaks, they wouldn’t have received a warm welcome, if permitted to enter Windhelm at all. The Nords who lived in the city glared at them with suspicion and disdain, spitting on the ground as they passed, muttering curses and racial slurs under their breath.  
   
Ganir knew many of his people inhabited the city to escape Red Mountain’s trail of destruction, but he caught a glimpse of them in what was labelled the ‘Gray Quarter’. Ancano noticed as well and shared the distaste. “So just is his uprising, for the sons of Skyrim alone, of course,” he sneered sarcastically in a barely audible tone.  
  
“Not now, Ancano.” Ganir hissed in a hushed tone, barely moving his lips. “Try to mind that tongue of yours lest they cut it out. These Nords have even less of a sense of humor than you do.”  
  
The High Elf’s eyes shot fire, but he heeded the warning nevertheless. _And I thought Winterhold was a desolate, depressing place…_ he thought as he looked at the city and its people. Dark Elves made their way to the Gray Quarter, carrying goods and while some tried to keep their chins up, some walked with their heads hung low and looked defeated. What he noticed above all else, aside from the Nords’ disdainful glares to them and the elves, was how no one (wanted to) acknowledged the homeless, the urchins and the beggars stood and sat around the braziers around the city. They rode further towards the Palace of the Kings that shadowed over all of the city’s quarters, but they found its name rather inappropriate as it looked more like an ancient Nordic fortress and Barrow in one. Not that they knew Windhelm was so ancient, that the Nords of old, led by Ysgramor himself, built this city.  
   
Scowling, intimidating statues of warriors guarded the palace’s courtyard. In the center stood a fountain of which the water was frozen. The cobblestone was covered with snow and mud. Tattered banners hung from the walls with the silver-painted heads of bears on them.  
  
They all dismounted and headed inside. “Go. I’ll be with you shortly,” he told Gjurd and Bronnjulf, who were more than happy to retreat to their barracks to the right of the entrance for some food, mead and rest. Ralof motioned for Ancano and Ganir to follow him into the throne room.  
  
The Palace’s interior was a stark contrast to the exterior and the rest of the city. Though the walls were of the same dark and weathered stone, the throne-room was well-lit and the marble tiles were polished. The walls were decorated with tapestries and banners that all bore the colors of Windhelm and the Stormcloak family; blue and silver.  
   
Ulfric would have made more and better of an impression on Ancano, even for a human, were he not seated in a slumped, bored fashion, looking completely disinterested in the councilors and the nobles he was listening too. At his side, stood a massive Nord who could easily have passed for a bear. Ancano knew exactly who that was; Galmar Stone-Fist, Ulfric’s second in command. Compared to him, Ulfric looked even more like an arrogant whelp.  
  
“All right. I heard enough. Be on your way,” Ulfric snapped and though not too pleased by the fashion how they were dismissed, the nobles and councilors did as they were told. In passing, their whispered their gossip and shot their disdainful glares at the two elves that had been brought in. Ulfric shifted in his seat, straightening himself and leaning forward. “What is this now, Ralof, that you bring elves to your Jarl’s court?”  
  
“My apologies, my Jarl,” Ralof bowed, holding his right fist against his chest as he did. “But these aren’t just _elves_. Surely you remember Ganir Mathendis of Helgen? He is here with Ancano, the Arch-Mage of Winterhold.”  
  
Ulfric’s interest was definitely piqued as his sharp, blue eyes regarded the two elves. “Ganir Mathendis. Yes…I remember you. We were fortunate to make our escape that day with Igritte. Why have you come here?”  
   
“I’m here for my friend, Ondolemar, whom you’ve detained in your Bloodworks.” Ganir said. “I understand your caution, but you have my word of honor that he is no Thalmor and I want you to release him.”   
  
“You have gall to walk into _my_ palace and make demands…” Even Ganir disliked the arrogant tone in Ulfric’s voice. “Especially since this is Ondolemar of Markarth you speak of, commander of the Thalmor’s Justiciars. Why should I release him for you? He has crimes to answer for. Saving a peasant girl does not grant him absolution.”  
  
Ganir swallowed, crossing his arms over his chest to hide the clenching of his hands into fists.   
  
So Ulfric knew exactly who Ondolemar was…and judging by the fierce glare, he also knew exactly who Ancano really was. _If they so much as laid a finger on Ondolemar…_ But this would definitely complicate matters, but he wasn’t about to give up, because he had a trump card that would get Ondolemar out. No one, not even Ulfric Stormcloak, would cross the Greybeards or the Dragonborn.  
  


* * *

 

She had visited Windhelm only twice in the past, riding on the wagon at her da’s side. They rarely ever really needed something from the city as the farm provided all they needed to live. As happy as Fjönn had been with a simple life, she had often dreamed of living in the city, even if only for a little while, or to travel and go on an adventure of some kind.  
  
Now, she wasn’t so sure…nor was she certain of anything…Fjönn wrapped the thick shawl around her and shuddered. Being so close to the sea brought in a chilly, salty wind no clothing could withstand. She looked out over the central city square where at its center, stood Candlehearth Inn which didn’t look all too welcoming as it was surrounded by drunkards and beggars… She could soon stand amongst them…  
  
For now, she was permitted to stay in the palace’s Bloodworks with Ondolemar as she was a witness, but Fjönn knew that once it was over, she was kicked out to the streets. She had no family left to turn too and she wasn’t permitted, as she was underage, to return to the farm and live there alone. And she was ‘too old’ for the orphanage.   
  
She didn’t even dare to think of asking Ondolemar for help. After all, what could he do right now? And he didn’t owe her a damn thing. But for a High Elf, he was surprisingly kind to her, even more so than the Nords, who treated her as another lost cause; a victim of the ‘fucking Thalmor’ and would fuel their rage to continue the war.

Head hung low, she got up and made her way back to the Palace of the Kings, walking through the door to the immediate right of the Entry Hall to the Barracks. The men didn’t even acknowledge her as they were far too busy with eating, drinking and playing cards if they weren’t asleep.  
   
She made her way down the stone staircase to the ‘Bloodworks’. Gods, the Stormcloaks liked their dramatics to even name the dungeons so. There were only three cells in total, of which two were occupied. One was locked, where Ondolemar lay sleeping on the cot and the other had been made ‘free’ of sorts for Fjönn so she had a place to sleep. It wasn’t much, but still better than the streets, she thought.

She had moved her cot to stand against the bars of Ondolemar’s cell so she could watch him and feel less lonely and scared. When she lay down, suddenly so tired, the High Elf stirred and propped himself up on an elbow. “What is it, Fjönn?” he asked, gentle as always. He still looked weary and a bit pale. “Your family. Have you been able to…?”  
  
“Nay…I couldn’t…” She shook her head and looked at her hands. “Ralof and the others buried me family. I wanna remember ‘m like I knew ‘m back home.”  
  
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Ondolemar assured her, wincing when he sat upright. On the back of his robes was a dark stain where the blood had soaked through. They definitely wouldn’t have made it past Windhelm. He would have died from the loss of blood.  
  
“Let me have a look?” Fjönn was thankful when he accepted and unclasped his robe. Below, he wore a stained, black tunic, which he also carefully removed to avoid opening the wound again by accident. It never ceased to amaze her how the bodies of Men and Mer held so many similarities, but could be so different all the same. Ondolemar’s body was far more smooth and beautiful…she couldn’t really think of a better way to describe it.  
  
“That stupid hag…” she grumbled, eying the wound with distaste. They had been so sloppy. “Does it still hurt?”   
  
“Just a bit,” Ondolemar admitted with a wry smile.   
  
“I’m going to have to clean it. That old bat couldn’t stitch up a horker… And those herbs…they weren’t even dried properly enough.” She ran her hand through her thick, red curls and sighed, clearly  annoyed. It was a miracle it hadn’t gotten infected...yet. She walked over to the nearby fire where she had hung some rags to dry after washing them earlier this morning. She filled the kettle with some water and waited until it had heated up some and poured it into a tankard.   
  
“An aspiring healer and alchemist?” he smiled at her as the girl began to pick the wound clean with precise care.   
  
“Not really. Me gran knew a lot…or well, until she went loopy of old age. Could go on rants about the ‘eternal night’ when ‘the sun was purged’.” Fjönn shook her head. What she wouldn’t give to have it all back. “I think the fumes got to her. She brewed potions for the Imperials in the Great War, you know…”  
  
“Do you…have any family?” Ondolemar took a sharp breath. Fjönn had chewed up some herbs and the moment she applied it to the wound, it began to sting. She shook her head as she did so, “So…where will you go…? Do you have a place to go?”  
   
Fjönn could tell they had both wanted to avoid this subject. For now, Ondolemar was safe, but she had seen the way Jarl Ulfric and Galmar Stone-Fist had glared at him. But they had given him a chance and sent a messenger to Winterhold to verify his claims. If no word to confirm this returned…She didn’t want to think of it.   
  
At first, she thought one the guards were brawling with one another after one of them was caught cheating, but when they both heard the most strange shouting and yelling that even made the walls shake, Ondolemar and she exchanged looks, their brows knitted together. “What…was that?”   
  
“You know the guards…nothing but brawling drunkards who can’t hold their drink as well as they claim.” Though Ondolemar knew the racket came from the throne room, he didn’t want to upset Fjönn. The girl had grown on him and he felt protective of her.  
  
When the door to the Bloodworks opened and Galmar and Ralof came walking down, however, Ondolemar couldn’t suppress the instinctive tensing of his body. This couldn’t be good…  
  
“What was that just now?” Fjönn asked the men. “Did something happen?”  
  
“Nothing to concern yourself with, lass, you can go,” Galmar glared at Ondolemar. “You’re free to go, elf.”  
  
The Altmer’s brows furrowed, confused. There was _no_ way any messenger could’ve made it back and forth between Windhelm, Winterhold and back within a day, no matter how fast the horse and it’s rider’s skill. _What in the hells…?_ Regardless of this, Ondolemar wasted no time before they could change their mind and he put his tunic back on. He had barely grabbed the overcoat of his robe when the Nord opened the door to his cell and yanked him out, shoving him towards the steps. “Get a move on, knife-ear. Don’t test me.”  
  
“B-But wait!” Fjönn protested. “Can’t I say goodbye?”   
  
“You just did, girl.” Galmar snapped. “Escort her out.”  
  
“What?” Ondolemar turned on his heel. “You can’t just throw her out to the streets! She’s barely-!”  
  
“Don’t. Test. Me.” Galmar growled. “It would be a shame if you were to slip on the stairs…”  
  
Fjönn frantically shook her head, pleading for him to keep quiet. Ralof gave Ondolemar a nod, squeezing the girl’s shoulder and they were led up to the throne room in silence.   
  
Somehow, deep down, Ondolemar had known, but logic had told them it couldn’t be possible for Ganir and Ancano to receive word of his predicament so fast, and arrive here in time, but there they stood, near Jarl Ulfric’s throne. The Nord looked positively livid and his blond mane was disheveled.   
Ondolemar had read the Thalmor’s dossier on Ulfric that Ganir had taken from the Embassy and he put the pieces together that Ganir, no doubt, had shown the Jarl the power of his Voice.  
  
“I am a man of my word, Dragonborn, but know that I expect much from you when we meet in High Hrothgar,” Ulfric said to Ganir. He then glared at Ondolemar, narrowing his fierce, blue eyes. “Consider yourself fortunate, _elf_. You are free to go…”  
  
Ancano and Ganir had noticed right away that Ondolemar was so happy and relieved to see them and that he was safe now, but they too had seen the girl. “I am glad we could come to an agreement, Jarl Ulfric. We shall be on our way.” As courteous as he was, Ancano’s tone, while silk an smooth, held venom.   
  
“See to it that I do not regret my choice, ‘Arch-Mage’. Be on your way.”   
  
The three elves were more than happy to leave, despising not only the Jarl, but the city as a whole.  
“That girl…was that Fjönn, who saved your life?” Ganir asked as they walked down the steps of the palace’s courtyard to the city’s main square.  
  
“Yes, she is,” Ondolemar said. “Ancano, I know it was foolish of me to travel alone and all, but-,”  
  
“I can wait until we’re in Winterhold to chastise your stupidity,” Ancano said. “So yes, she can come along with us, provided she studies and earns her keep.”   
  
“She will, I will make sure of it myself,” Ondolemar said and he immediately set off to find her, followed suit by Ganir and Ancano.  
  
“Ondolemar, I am so sorry you got hurt because-,”  
  
“Because of a choice we both made,” Ondolemar said to Ganir. “Right now, I just want to find Fjönn and go home.” The three of them stood in the streets of the city’s central square, looking at the back of Candlehearth Hall Inn. Now that night had fallen and the streets were only lit by braziers and the torches carried by the guards, it would prove a challenge to find Fjönn amongst the beggars, drunkards and the countless people heading home or towards the Inn.  
  
“Spare a coin for a veteran?” Ganir wasn’t sure whether the man, who was missing teeth, an eye and certainly had his fair share of scars was truly a veteran, but if life had taught him anything, it was that beggars had eyes and ears everywhere.  
  
“How about a trade,” he suggested, making the man’s eye narrow with suspicion. “Ten coin if you can tell me where the red-haired girl went.”  
  
“You mean the one they threw out of the palace?” he asked. “My memory’s a bit fussy.”  
  
“Pushing it…” Ganir growled. “But fine…Fifteen.”  
  
“She went to the marketplace, but that’s all I saw last o’ her.” The beggar grinned wide, eyes lighting up when Ganir handed him the coin as promised.  
  
“Disgusting,” Ancano sneered as they walked over to the marketplace west of the Inn. The three of them minded their step and coin purses as they made their way through the crowd.   
But the beggar had not lied, because they found her sat near the Blacksmith Quarters, sat near the forge which was still tended too by a bearded, balding Nord and his female, black-haired assistant.   
  
“I’m sorry lass, I have no work for ye. I already got an apprentice,” the blacksmith said to the girl while hammering away at a plate of steel. Midswing, he halted and looked past the miserable girl at the three elves who had walked onto the marketplace.  
Fjonn followed the smith’s gaze and wasn’t sure what she felt when she saw the three elves. On one hand, she was happy and relieved that he indeed had been released and sad because he probably came to say goodbye now.  
  
She fidgeted with her shawl when she sat down on the nearby wall and Ondolemar joined her. “So, this is it, eh? Quite the adventure we had, all right…” she smiled to hide her quiver of her bottom lip.  
“Are you going home with yer friends? To Winterhold?”  
  
“Well, that depends on it,” Ondolemar said with a smile that made his green eyes shine, “Are you coming?”   
  
“Wh-What do you mean? If I..come…along?” she stammered.  
  
“If you want, that is. Ancano will want you to earn your keep and study, but…” The High Elf was nearly sent toppling over the ledge when the girl flew her arms around his neck, burying her face against his chest and crying with relief. She wasn’t going to be left alone!  
  
“You know…” Ganir said, cocking his head slightly when Ondolemar grinned at them over the distance, “I’ve noticed something as of late…”  
  
“What?” Ancano asked with a raised brow.   
  
“You’re getting soft.”  
  
The High Elf’s expression was priceless along with the soft pink glow on his cheeks and his glare was anything but intimidating now. “Hardly,” Ancano said haughtily,” After all, she can use your room until further notice.”  
   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to lie I kind of had to think through of how to portray Ulfric Stormcloak. I don't believe he's genuinely bigoted against the other races, but I do believe he holds a firm hatred towards the Thalmor and isn't too fond of the fact that Ganir, as an elf of all things, is the Dragonborn. 
> 
> So I tried my best, after observing Ulfric's actions, dialogue and behaviour etc. how he would act and react in this situation.
> 
> I do have to say, Ulfric is definately quite the interesting fellow.
> 
> Edit: 30-10-2015 -- I added the part in this chapter where Ondolemar takes Fjonn with him to Winterhold. I didn't want to put that into the next chapter but I guess insomnia makes you think less clearly xD Woops.


	29. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Season Unending is upon us all.
> 
> With all that Ancano has done and meant for Ondolemar in the past, Ondolemar feels it is necessary to confront Ancano. He is just as needed, if not essential, to help Ganir succeed, and help tackle all risks that come with their plans.

**Chapter 28**  
  
Only the magical lights that Ancano had conjured provided some light around his working desk, leaving the quarters barely lit as a whole. Ancano preferred to keep it so lest anyone think he was awake and Faralda or anyone else thought it fine to come pester him at this hour regardless of the nature of their request or inquiry. As exhausted as they all were, Ancano knew that Ondolemar’s wound required immediate attention when Ondolemar barely managed to dismount on his own from the pain and fever. As not to worry Fjönn, Ondolemar had lied to the girl that Ancano required him for a small favor and he would be back shortly, so she had gone with Ganir to be shown her room.  
   
Using pliers, Ancano removed the charred Skeever hide he left hanging over the fire and without warning, he laid it on the festering wound on Ondolemar’s back. Ondolemar hissed and swore as he hadn’t seen it coming, sat leaning forward in a chair and facing away from the Arch-Mage.  
  
“Don’t complain. This is your own fault,” Ancano chastised him as he scrubbed the hide over the wound to rub the dirt, crusts and pus out. Eager to test the theory in a book he had found amongst the countless others in his quarters, Ancano was pleased to find that this method was as efficient as described, even if primitive in comparison to potions and spells. _Cirilonde would have had this fixed with ease in no time…_ he thought, scrunching his nose in disgust at the hide, but the wound was clean.  
   
“I didn’t exactly _plan_ to get shot,” Ondolemar snapped, glaring at the other elf over his shoulder. Thankful as he was that the wound no longer itched or burned, he was exhausted and he’d had enough of Ancano’s snide comments and cold treatment. “What was I supposed to do then? Ride along like I hadn’t seen or heard a thing?”  
   
“Not the point.” Ancano turned away to discard both the charred Skeever hide and his gloves in a nearby bucket. “Your method was rash, uncalculated and whether you agree or not, you took an unnecessary risk.”  
   
“And if it had been Cirilonde instead of Fjönn?” Ondolemar shot to his feet when Ancano spun on his heel and he had all reason to feel intimidated by the Arch-Mage. But mentioning Cirilonde had clearly struck a chord like Ondolemar had intended. This had to stop.  
   
“Don’t you _dare_ compare…” Ancano felt his temper flare like it hadn’t in quite some time, but combined with his exhaustion, all his pent up emotions surfaced when even Ondolemar of all people dared question him. He had no obligation whatsoever, but he had felt he owed Cirilonde and Ganir to lead the College of which the inhabitants still didn’t trust him and questioned his every move and decision directly or indirectly. But in spite of it all, he had stayed for Cirilonde and he had aided Ganir not only because he trusted the Dark Elf, he was also very aware the Dragon Crisis could not be ignored. Now that even Ondolemar began to pressure him… _goad_ and taunt him even. It infuriated him.  
  
_I’m doing the same what you would’ve done for me, Ancano._ “Oh, I dare,” he wished he felt as confident as he sounded. “The sole reason you’re pissed is that the very idea of losing me or Ganir _terrifies_ you because it makes you realize how vulnerable you really are since all you’d have left is the self-pity, self-loathing and guilt to wallow in. How long are you going to blame yourself for Cirilonde’s death while there was _nothing_ you could have done to save her? How long are you going to shut us out while we _need_ you?”  
  
Ancano’s face was set in a snarl and he shook with rage. But when  the very idea of punching Ondolemar crossed his mind for his tongue, he turned away and tried to calm himself down. “You don’t even know…Do you even _realize_ -,!”  
  
“That you fell in love with Cirilonde?”

Ancano felt a pang in his chest when Ondolemar hit the nail on the head. _I’m getting too old for this…_ he thought as he looked at Ondolemar over his shoulder. There wasn’t a huge age-difference between the two of them, but he’d been Ondolemar’s mentor and he’d surpassed him. Ondolemar’s gaze softened when Ancano’s barrier fell. “The situation simply did _not_ permit for me to risk it,” Ancano saw the memories flash before his mind’s eye. _The moment he held the door open for Cirilonde after it had crossed his mind to kiss her in the stairwell. To let his hands wander when he laid his hand on her shoulder after calling it a night and pull her close_.But he had not acted because just when they got rid of the Eye of Magnus, he was summoned back to Solitude. By the time he returned to Winterhold it was too late. “Everything was on the line for us and the College and as much as I tried to deny and ignore it, she was always there and I wouldn’t want it any other way…” His voice cracked as he could still feel Cirilonde’s warmth when he held her in his arms but she did not wake.“I would have loved her…”  
  
It tore at Ondolemar to watch Ancano run a hand through his long, silver-white hair, looking so old and tired all of a sudden. He joined Ancano’s side, leaning against the desk as well and laid his hand on the other elf’s shoulder. “I know it’s been difficult. It’s been hard for all of us, but the College needs their Arch-Mage. And while none of it may bring her back to life we _must_ stop Alduin and we can’t do it without you.”  
  
There was a moment of silence in which Ancano didn’t bother to pour himself a glass of wine but drank straight from the bottle before handing it to Ondolemar, who had put his tunic back on and took a few swigs. “We will have to discuss these plans of yours and Ganir’s later today...” When Ondolemar made to turn and leave, Ancano grabbed a hold of his shoulder. “…Thank you.”  
  
“You’re welcome, _Commander_.” With a curt nod, Ondolemar threw the bloodied overcoat of his Thalmor uniform over his shoulder and left the Arch-Mage’s Quarters.  
  
The walk across the courtyard to the Hall of Attainment was brief, but it was rather chilly outside and Ondolemar welcomed the warmth of the dorms. Though he wanted nothing more than go straight to bed, he peered into Ganir’s room to find Fjönn sound asleep in the Dark Elf’s bed. Granted that perhaps Ancano had a point he had taken an unnecessary risk in saving her life, but he didn’t regret a single moment of it. Now that she was here, he had the strong sense that she would achieve great things.  
  
Pulling his tunic over his head as he made his way into his room, he spun on his heel, startled when he saw a flash of red from the corner of his eyes. He gripped his chest, “You need to _stop_ doing that,” he snapped at the Dark Elf, who had been seated in the chair at the foot end of his bed.  
  
“Well, it took you long enough to return…and half-naked no less, so I got some shut eye.” Ganir had but caught a glimpse of the Altmer’s body back in Blackreach to cover it soon after and get him warm. Whereas Ancano was thin and lean, Ondolemar was muscular and broader. Few, light scars marred his flawless skin and though the Dark Elf had found him attractive to begin with, something stirred within him now that he saw what those thick robes always hid. Ganir cocked his head slightly to conceal the fact he’d been ogling Ondolemar, picking at his beard and grinning. “But I waited here for you to make sure Ancano let you return in one piece.”

“We had a … discussion. I’d had quite enough,” The High Elf waved a dismissive hand when the Dark Elf raised a brow. “No matter, it is dealt with. I just want to sleep now.”  
  
“I take it he took care of your wound, then?” Ganir asked while fingering his golden earring between his index and middle finger. “I still feel bad about it, really. I know I wasn’t to blame, but…I’m just really glad you’re back here in one piece.”    
  
“As am I.” When Ondolemar sat down on his bed, the Dark Elf got up. “Where are going?” He really wanted nothing more but to sleep, but Ondolemar didn’t want him to leave either, he realized.  
  
“Find myself a place to sleep,” he replied with a shrug. “Unless you don’t mind I hog your chair for the night,” he then chuckled, “and you feel comfortable sharing a room with a vampire.”   
  
Ondolemar gave an uncharismatic snort. “I’d have a witty response to that if I wasn’t so tired.”

* * *

  
  
  
Compared to earlier that morn, the Arch-Mage’s Quarters were well-lit at this late hour well past dinner time. “I understand that the circumstances may not have permitted you to notify me, but a note of some sort at the very least would be appreciated,” Faralda said. “And what is Fjönn’s purpose here? She has _no_ training in the magical arts whatsoever.”  
  
Fjönn had pulled a muscle in her neck earlier that day because everything about the College left her in awe, filling her with questions Faralda didn’t mind to answer if she had one. But the Arch-Mage’s Quarters had taken Fjönn’s breath away and she as though her eyes were about to pop out of their sockets because she saw so many things she was curious about. An ancient but broken staff lay in a glass display case, there were countless old tomes in the book-cases, sided by Dwemer and other glass trinkets, crystals and gems. But Faralda’s comment had her attention snap back  to the conversation at hand between the two elves.  
  
She didn’t really appreciate to be discussed as though she wasn’t there, but Fjönn minded her tongue because she didn’t want to come across as disrespectful or mouthy towards Ancano, who could very well kick her out if he so chose. She had noticed there was something different about the Arch-Mage that she couldn’t exactly pinpoint but she still found him harsh and unkind. But what bothered her (and even Faralda noticed this) was that the Altmer’s eyes every so often would shoot towards Fjönn, his gaze fixated on the dress-robe she wore that she had been given by Faralda.  
  
Ancano took his time to return the tomes he held back to their rightful place on the shelves of the bookcase near his desk, much to Faralda’s annoyance as she waited for an answer. “Fjönn will be living here from now on under Ondolemar’s care and I expect she is treated well in the event of our absence. As for her past, that is up for her to disclose if she desires,” Ancano finally replied, not necessarily intending to keep the woman waiting. He was more concerned with phrasing. She only needed to know so much. “Other than that, it would be appreciated if you ceased questioning my courses of action. I don’t believe I need remind you we are dealing with a Dragon Crisis that I consider more of a priority than your petty squabbles and insecurities in regards to my person or functioning. Unless you wish to question my abilities to lead this College…”  
  
“No, of course not, Ancano. I had no intention to be disrespectful.” Faralda apologized. As much as she wanted to strangle the former Thalmor at times for being overly demanding and criticizing of the staff and student body, he had proven to be a most capable man who really knew what he was talking about. _Just how did Cirilonde put up with this man though?_ “It’s just that-,”  
   
“ _Don’t_ waste my time, please,” Ancano didn’t veil his irritation. “If you have no intention of being disrespectful I suggest you and the rest of the staff re-evaluate the words and actions you think elude me.” Faralda swallowed. _Good…Squirm. I’m tired of being treated the fool,_ he thought when he saw the Altmer female looked quite embarrassed. “And before you go so I can attend to matters of actual importance, I would appreciate it that you see to it that Fjönn is assigned proper attire.”  
   
“But these are Ciri-,” Faralda scraped her throat when Ancano shot her a deadly look. “Yes, but of course, Arch-Mage, I understand.”  
  
“I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding.” Ancano’s smile would have held more charm if it had been genuine. “Is there anything else?”  
  
“No, Arch-Mage. I’ll see to it as soon as possible,” Faralda said with a small bow.  
  
“Noted. Fjönn will be joining you in a moment. You can go now.” Ancano waved his hand in a dismissive gesture at Faralda, whose eyes shot from Fjönn back to Ancano, before she gave a bow and left the Arch-Mage’s Quarters. When he gestured for Fjönn to take a seat like he had, she hesitated, “Stop fiddling with your hands, girl. I’m not about to curse or jinx you. I merely intend to discuss some things with you.”  
  
“I dunnae mind but it’d help if ye didn’t scare the livin’ daylights outta me,” Fjönn grumbled.  
  
“If you have issue with my person, I’d appreciate it if you were loud and clear and looked me in the eye,” Ancano said.  
  
Fjönn looked up at him, her grey eyes meeting his cold, golden gaze. “Ye scare the livin’ daylights outta me with all that scowlin’ and glarin’ ye do.”  
  
“Well, aside from sounding like you’re choking on a potato, at least you have the decency to speak your mind. Perhaps there’s hope yet,” There was a twitch at the corners of the High Elf’s lips, but not necessarily because he was pleased or amused. She reminded him of the countless recruits he’d interviewed. They would be nervous…terrified, even, of him, when they sat face to face with someone as powerful and influential as he.  
  
_And you sound like you’ve got a permanent stick up your…_  
  
“To the point,” Ancano continued. “The sole reason I permitted for you to live here, is because Ondolemar requested it of me and as I’m sure he told you, you are to earn your keep. As Faralda stated, you indeed don’t have an ounce of magic flowing through you-,”  
  
Fjönn frowned. “How can ye know that now?”  
  
“-, and due lack of manners…” Ancano glared at her. “But we can work on that…” Again that charismatic, unkind smile. “But before we get to anything in regards to of what is expected of you, know that there’s a good reason for what I am about to tell you and why you are not to leave the College grounds without my explicit permission…”  
  
His pause was not to contemplate his words, Fjönn could tell and though she was bursting with countless questions, she bit her tongue. _Ill-mannered? I’ll show ye!  
  
_ “What I am about to tell you shan’t leave this room under _no_ circumstances for the safety of both the staff and students. Can you abide by this?”  
  
This time, he was waiting for her to answer. “I shan’t leave the grounds and whatever yer about to tell me shan’t leave this room. Swear on me parents’ graves.” She looked at her hands. _By Talos, I miss ye so much, ma ‘n da…_ But she had tired of crying like a baby. She had to move on.  
  
“Are you aware of who I truly am? Who Ondolemar truly is? Or Ganir, for that matter?” Ancano asked. When the girl shook her head, the High Elf pinched the bridge of his nose, glaring at the door, “I do recall I damn well indicated I do not-,! Ah, Ganir, Ondolemar. Evening.”  
  
Though the Arch-Mage did not indicate they were permitted to enter, Ganir and Ondolemar made their way in. Fjönn looked up at Ondolemar, who looked so…strange, clad in these College robes. But it was the flicker in Ganir’s eyes when his eyes too locked on her dress-robes. What was it about these damn robes that everyone seemed to have an issue with?!  
  
“Don’t get me started,” Ancano growled when he saw the Dark Elf’s brow furrow. “Faralda thought it fine to just…never mind. It’s being taken care of…”  
  
“Why is Fjönn here?” Ondolemar asked.  
  
The Arch-Mage leaned his head on his fist. “Well, there’s some things you may have overlooked that we will need to set in stone, so to speak, while she stays here. After all, I don’t think it wise she wanders about Winterhold freely while linked to us now…”  
  
“You have a point, but…Are you sure that’s wise? I trust Fjönn, I do, but she’s been through-,”  
  
“Could ye all please stop talkin’ as if I’m not ‘ere?” Fjönn snapped. “Yes, I’ve been through a lot. Yes, I miss me ma ‘n da, but I’m not a wee lass anymore. I told ye I’d earn me keep here. I’d study, clean, do whatever ye need of me, so I’ll be doin’ just that.”  
  
Ganir chuckled. “Got to hand it to you, Ondolemar, she has spirit.”  
  
“I grew up with two sisters. Trust me. ” Ondolemar rolled his eyes. “But you heard her, Ancano.”  
  
“Yes, quite clearly,” The Arch-Mage tapped the tips of his fingers against one another. “Ondolemar here is the former Commander of the Thalmor’s Justiciars in Skyrim. I state former because due circumstances we were reunited here. Yes, I too am a former member of the Thalmor and now lead the College as its Arch-Mage. Ganir, over here, is a vampire. No, he is perfectly house-trained…” Ganir’s eyes shot fire at Ancano, who smirked, rather content with the Dark Elf and Fjönn’s expression and response to this fact and his remark.  
   
“Wait, he’s a vampire…? I…”  
  
“I’m sure Ganir will gladly inform you of all the delights in regards to his state of grace, but kindly focus,” Ancano said. “Yes, he’s a vampire, but he is also the Dragonborn. Hence why we do not want you to leave the College; we are wanted men by the Thalmor, who have no foothold here, but that doesn’t mean they’ll try one way or another. Which is why I strictly forbid you to leave the College grounds without my explicit permission.”  
  
Fjönn nodded, looking up at Ondolemar to see if she could pin-point his disposition or thoughts about everything the Arch-Mage said, but he did not meet her gaze in any way or form. She looked back at the Arch-Mage.  
  
“While you are here, you will be assisting Urag gro-Shub, the warden of our Arcaneum, when you are not attending the seminars hosted by our staff. Though there’s not an ounce in magic in you, I will want you to obtain some grasp of what happens here and how magic works. Are we clear?” Ancano’s eyes shot from Fjönn to Ondolemar.  
  
As firm as these rules sounded, when Ancano said she would be studying magic, rather than groan and whine, her eyes had lit up with excitement and she was positively beaming. She had been very content with her simple life on the farm, but she had always been mesmerized by wandering warriors and magi and all these places they would wander off too in search of knowledge, adventure and glory. “Yes, yer loud ‘n clear, Sir!” she nodded.  
  
“Ondolemar?”  
  
“I suppose that’s reasonable enough,” Ondolemar nodded. “Thank you, Ancano. I really appreciate it. She won’t disappoint you.”  
  
The Arch-Mage shot him a certain look. “That will be all for now,” he said to Fjönn. “Should you need anything, or should you have questions, the staff will be notified they are to assist you where possible and that Ondolemar is held responsible for your actions and behavior.”  
  
The red-head swallowed and nodded again. She would really have to give it her all!  
  
“I’ll be with you shortly then, if you don’t mind,” Ondolemar said to Ancano, who nodded.  
  
With the nod of his head, Ondolemar made clear he wanted to speak with her and the two of them left the Arch-Mage’s Quarters. Ondolemar made sure the door was closed behind them and they stood in the stairwell. “I’m dreadfully sorry I wasn’t awake when you were. I had quite the journey behind my back before we…’met’, as I’m sure you can understand,” he explained. “Is all well with you?”  
  
“I’m as good as can be. I kinnae thank ye enough, Ondolemar!” Fjönn raised her hands to gesture at their surroundings as a whole, beaming. “This place is amazin’!”  
   
“It…can be, but, look…” Ondolemar laid both his hands on Fjönn’s shoulders, lowering himself to her level. “What Ancano told you about not leaving the grounds… _promise_ me that you adhere by it. No matter what happens.”  
  
The High Elf’s green eyes sought hers and she furrowed her brow. “I’m not a stupid lass, Ondolemar, but cross me heart and swear ta die, I’ll not leave the College grounds without Ancano’s permission.” She then bit her bottom lip, contemplating it for a moment and the High Elf could tell. “Who is this Cirilonde? I’m sorry if I’m pryin’, but…”  
  
“Ah, yes, that…” Ondolemar took a sharp breath, scratching at the stubble along his jawline. “I hope Ancano didn’t give you hell about wearing her dress-robes…”  
   
“He seemed about to bite me and Faralda’s head off he did. Ganir didn’t look too happy about it either…” She scratched her head. She appreciated that she was told everything, but at the same time it was very overwhelming and confusing.  
  
“Cirilonde was important to the both of them,” Ondolemar explained. “I can’t really tell you much about her as I didn’t know her myself as she died shortly before I arrived here, but her passing is still a bit of a delicate matter.”  
  
Fjönn nodded, feeling rather uncomfortable wearing the dress-robes which had been prettier than any she had ever seen. It didn’t fit her very well as she was just a little bit too short, but other than that, it fit her well. The fashion in which the fabric was woven was unlike anything she’d felt and the colors were beautiful,  vivid hues of blue and green.  Ondolemar noticed and gave her a reassuring smile. “You didn’t know, Fjönn. So try not to worry about it too much,” he said to her. “But what I need you to know is that…I helped raise my sisters. I’m not exactly a father-figure, but I brought you here for a reason. I want you to be safe and at home here and I’ll do my best to be there for you, but like Ancano explained, Ganir is the Dragonborn. We are helping him. So it is possible I will be leaving the College at times to tend to matters I can’t tell you about for your own safety.”  
  
The red-head nodded but while everything was clear, her mind buzzed from all the information that had yet to sink in on her all. “About Ganir…” she cleared her throat. “He’s a vampire _and_ a Dragonborn? He the good sort?”  
  
“There is absolutely no reason to be afraid of Ganir. I promise you.” Ondolemar said to her, “I had some trouble believing that, but Ancano trusts him and I have no reason not to trust him after what we’ve been through, if that helps any.”  
  
“It does.” Fjönn nodded. “It’s just a lot to take in. Tha’s all.”  
  
“And that’s fine.” He assured her, once more. _And if Ancano had let me handle this instead of just loading all of it onto her at once…_ he thought. “Is there anything else you need to know, or want to ask?”  
  
“No, I’m good,” she smiled at him. “Thank ye again, Ondolemar. I’d be scrapin’ for coin or food on the streets now if not for you.”  
  
“Try not to think about that anymore,” Ondolemar smiled at her. “I saw Faralda waiting down the stairs. Maybe she can show you around. I know I promised you I would, but there’s some really important matters I need to discuss.”  
  
“That’s all right. I’m a big lass. I’ll manage.” Fjönn smiled. Against his expectations, the red-haired girl held him tight and a warmth washed over Ondolemar, who held the girl in return. She really reminded him of his sisters, which explained why he felt so protective of her. He didn’t deny that perhaps this wasn’t the best or safest place or position for her to be in, but if _anyone_ would even lay a finger on her…  
  
“Go. I’ll see you when I am able,” he said to her and with that, Fjönn was practically skipping down the stairs to Faralda. Shaking his head, he returned to the Arch-Mage’s Quarters where Ancano and Ganir were already discussing their plans of approach.  
  
“I think you have seen a few minor flaws in this plan of yours.” Ancano was looking at the copy of some odd, foreign object which seemed to depict a map of some sorts and a variety of notes laid out on his desk, which he had cleared in a rather crude fashion, having swept all the scrolls, tomes and the sort onto the floor. _Typical Ancano at work…_ Ondolemar thought, amused, because this was the Ancano he knew. “How exactly do you intend to even approach Tullius without being recognized by officials of either the Empire or the Thalmor given your…history?”  
  
“Thorelas can act as a messenger,” Ganir replied. “He’s still held in the Midden, is he not?”  
   
“As you insisted…” Ancano didn’t veil his contempt for the General or Ganir’s choice to spare Thorelas’ life until they figured what was best to handle him. “What makes you think that wretch will agree?”  
  
The Dark Elf tapped his teeth. “I can enthrall him.”  
  
Ancano and Ondolemar both very well knew what that meant. It was a dark fate and Ondolemar’s eyes shot to Ancano, who had given him a curt nod earlier when he rejoined them. “As much as I want that _scum_ to suffer…You do realize you will…”  
  
“I know,” Ganir said. “I’ve been thinking a lot about it, but were we to send a common messenger, we don’t know whether we can trust them, not to mention that the messenger could be intercepted. Enthralling Thorelas will ensure he will be driven by my word to deliver the message by all means possible…When he returns, I will end his suffering.”  
  
Ancano ran a hand through his silver-white hair. It didn’t sit well with him to make use of Ganir’s vampiric powers, but the Dark Elf had a point. And it would remove a thorn from his side. “Ondolemar?” When the other High Elf nodded, Ancano looked at Ganir again. “As for this insane plan of yours to trap a dragon in Dragonsreach, how exactly do you plan to lure a dragon there to begin with?”  
   
“That’s where this comes in,” Ganir laid his hand on the parchment with the odd map and the other on a musty old tome. “This parchment here is a copy of the Dragonstone Delphine had me retrieve through Farengar, Whiterun’s court-mage, from Bleak Falls Barrow with Ciri. It’s a map of all the dragon burial sites across  Skyrim. Back when we headed to Sky Haven Temple, I took the opportunity to ‘borrow’ this tome from Esbern, which contains the exact, same information as the Dragonstone does, except, here, the locations of those dragon burial sites, have the names of the dragons buried there…” The Dark Elf’s eyes shot from Ondolemar and Ancano to see if they still followed. “You see, while Ondolemar took his detour to Windhelm, I returned to High Hrothgar and I discussed this whole matter with Arngeir. He told me that the names of Dragons are much like Shouts. Fus Ro Dah, for example, roughly translates to ‘Force’, “Balance’ and ‘Push’. The names of dragons work in a similar fashion. Paarthurnax told me that if I were to have a name and Shout it, the dragon would be compelled to answer the challenge, especially since I am the Dragonborn.”  
  
Both Altmer listened, intrigued by the ancient, powerful workings of these Shouts, having witnessed these Shouts for  themselves a multitude of times now. To call forth the arcane and cast spells was one thing, but to Shout, projecting one’s voice into pure raw power with mere words…“And you have a name?” Ancano asked.  
  
“Well, Delphine was so kind to leave notes on her copy of the Dragonstone that I also happened to borrow,” Ganir explained. “See this one here, near Whiterun? That’s the burial from Mirmulnir, whom I slew near Whiterun. And this one here, between Winterhold and Windhelm, that’s Strunthurvik’s that Cirilonde ran into. All these, like the one at Kynesgrove not long after, have been resurrected by Alduin over the course of the last few months. And it would not surprise me if he has resurrected this one…Odahviing; Winged Snow Hunter.”  
   
“I have to admit, I’m impressed. You have actually thought things through for a change and I don’t need to hold your hand.” Ancano’s compliment held its usual tone but Ganir appreciated it nevertheless. Whatever Ondolemar and he had discussed last night, it had sparked something within the Arch-Mage and that fire had returned to his eyes. “Now that this is out of the way, however, there is one matter we have not yet discussed; the negotiations. How exactly do you intend for the Empire and Stormcloak rebellion to lay down their arms for a truce long enough for you to fulfill this task? Remember Ulfric’s dossier. It would not surprise me if he were to break any oaths or promises made in regards to all this.”  
  
“Ulfric was a student of the Greybeards. To disrespect them and the truce would go against everything he stands for as a ‘true son of Skyrim’. And after the little discussion I had back with him in Windhelm, I doubt he would want to cross paths with a Dragonborn,” Ganir and Ancano grinned at one another.  
  
“You will really have to tell me how you exactly got me out of Windhelm because he knew exactly who I was…” Ondolemar said, furrowing his brow as had had been wondering about that. “But regardless of what Ulfric may or may not do, you do realize that Elenwen will be present at these negotiations, right?”  
  
“Hence why I will be joining Ganir to these negotiations at High Hrothgar,” Ancano’s tone made it very clear he wouldn’t tolerate any objections. “I will nip any of her attempts to sabotage the negotiations in the bud. On top of that, it will help if a neutral representative of an influential organization is present to back the Dragonborn up; myself…” Ganir was genuinely, but pleasantly surprised that Ancano would do this for him. The High Elf’s dark golden eyes locked with the High Elf’s. “It’s high time that I act. So what is it that Jarl Balgruuf requires of me at Whiterun?”  
  
“Damage and crowd control. When Odahviing will answer my call, I need to make sure he remains focused on me and we lure him into the trap,” Ganir replied. “And of  course, see to it he doesn’t burn the city or palace down.”  
  
“So, to summarize,” Ancano said. “If and when Thorelas is successful in delivering his message to Tullius and the parties gather at High Hrothgar to negotiate a truce, we will be allowed by Balgruuf to attempt trap a dragon in his palace as according to the legend of Olaf One-Eye. And then what? What makes you think that this dragon will tell you where Alduin has gone?”  
  
“He won’t have a choice,” Ganir replied. “I can’t really explain it, but he won’t have a choice but too. And when he discloses Alduin’s location, I will seek him out, alone.” Ganir looked at both the High Elves. “This has nothing to do with making some ‘noble’ sacrifice to be the lone hero. I don’t know if any of it makes sense, but…I have a feeling that where Alduin has gone, is no place for any of you two and when I seek him out, I know that any dragons under his command will retaliate. You need to stay here and protect the College.”  
  
“He’s right,” Ondolemar said. “After all, remember what he said on the top of the Throat of the World? ‘You will fail like you have done before and I shall feast on the souls of your beloved’? We will definitely need to make preparations…”  
  
“Then I see no reason for any delays.” Ancano ran a hand through his hair, “As much as I want that thorn out of my side…It must be done this way. Just see to it that no one sees the General, Ganir.”  
  
The Dark Elf nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it seem like he made his escape but found an untimely demise somehow when they find he’s gone come morn.”  
  
“I’ll come with you to make sure it all goes as planned. You never know,” Ondolemar said. “After all, he _was_ a general.”  
  
“Then it’s settled,” Ancano said. “While you do that, I shall see to it that Fjönn’s needs are met.”

* * *

  
**Blizzard Overlord Vicious – Iizstrun Thur Vikaar – Strunthurvik :** The dragon that Cirilonde ‘stumbled’ upon when she left the College after an argument with Ancano.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there everyone.
> 
> I'm dreadfully to keep those waiting who were eager for a next chapter. I'm not going to lie, but as I've said in the past, Ancano is quite a complex character, so to do him justice I didn't want to pull him out of character too much when he was confronted by Ondolemar. I hope I was successful!
> 
> The same goes for Ondolemar, in all honesty. In-game, he really isn't the sort to do what he has done for Fjonn, but given his disposition and behaviour in-game, he doesn't seem to -hate- humans and of course, looking at his character's development throughout this story for so far. I don't know.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this either way and thank you once again for taking the time to do so. If you liked it and don't mind, please drop me a kudo or a comment to let me know what you thought of this chapter or noticed something, etc. You name it.
> 
> Take care, and until the next time.


	30. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am the Dragonborn.” Ganir looked Ulfric straight in the eyes and understood why the Jarl had been unable to stay with the Greybeards. Had Ulfric even listened to a word they had said? All he had done was challenge everything they had said. “I am not just here to retrieve my friend and ally, but I have also come here on behalf of the Greybeards. They summon you to High Hrothgar to meet with them and the delegates who represent the Empire in Skyrim to negotiate a truce and put an end to this war so I can stop Alduin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't really care if people like it or not, but just in case, I will want to warn ahead that there's some mild, man-on-man action in this chapter. Don't like it. Don't read it. -shrugs-
> 
> However, constructive criticism would be appreciated on it because it's been a while since I've written sexual scenes. So please let me know what you thought!
> 
> In any case, I want to thank you ahead of time for taking the time to read another chapter. I hope you enjoy the read and your day/night.

**Chapter 29**

“You have gall to walk into _my_ palace and make demands, especially since this is Ondolemar of Markarth, the commander of the Thalmor’s Justiciars, whom you speak of. Why should I release him for you? He has crimes to answer for. Saving a peasant girl does not grant him absolution.”  
  
Ganir flinched because he felt as though punched in the gut. This would definitely complicate matters to secure Ondolemar’s release, so what could he say or do now to convince Ulfric? His mind reeled when suddenly, it was Ancano who stepped forward.  
   
“If you hope to make some political statement by persecuting Ondolemar of Markarth, it shan’t yield the results you hope for as he is no longer counted amongst the Thalmor’s ranks.” Ancano’s tone was sharp but sophisticated and resounded strong through the throne room.“Nor am I, for that matter, but Ondolemar has been my most loyal and trusted subordinate and I am sure the code of honor for brothers in arms are not limited to one’s heritage. I’m sure even your second in command would do the same for his men.”

Ganir’s gaze shot from Ancano to Ulfric and Galmar, wondering what the hell Ancano was even thinking by making such a bold move. Galmar shifted his weight from one foot to another, uncertain what to think. The High Elf had just blatantly admitted his association with the Thalmor…That certainly took balls. Once it dawned on Ganir what Ancano was up too and they exchanged glances, the High Elf’s lips betrayed the slightest sign of a smirk.  
  
“Whether you believe me or not, you would do Lady Elenwen a tremendous favor by ridding the world of Ondolemar, a loose end that caused her quite some trouble…” Ancano folded his hands together behind his back. “It would furthermore prove you are intimidated by a lone, former commander who has nothing at his disposal to harm you. More importantly you would obstruct our joint efforts with Ganir to put a stop to the Dragon Crisis. As I’m sure you remember, Jarl Ulfric, you and Ganir here were present in Helgen when the dragon appeared.”  
  
“I care very little for your fancy word-play, _Arch-Mage_ , nor do I believe I addressed you.” Ulfric spat as he regarded Ancano with nothing but disdain and distrust.

Who did this goddamn elf think he was to speak to him like he was some milk-drinking clod?  
_But he knows more than he lets on…and if I have to believe the rumors…_ All across Skyrim had tales from Winterhold reached even his ears and it had all centered around this Ancano and the two elves from Helgen. _Igritte would have met a cruel death that day was it not for that she-elf._ _Of course I damn well remember Helgen!_

He would never forget how the Dark Elf had seemed content to meet his end while he, Jarl Ulfric, had even prayed to the Nine regardless of how glorious his reception in Sovngarde would be. “But what of Helgen and this dragon, Dark Elf?” Ulfric asked. “My men have seen plenty of dragons appear since and there are rumors of a Dragonborn…”  
  
“Certainly even you would know that was no ordinary dragon but Alduin the World-Eater,” Ganir said. “He wasn’t there by sheer coincidence. He had come looking for me, the Dragonborn.”  
  
“The Dragonborn? _You_?!” Ulfric exclaimed in disbelief, not sure whether to laugh or be offended. The claim was wild and preposterous, but the rumors… “So it is _you_ who claims to be the one the Greybeards summoned to High Hrothgar?”  
  
“I _am_ the Dragonborn.” Ganir looked Ulfric straight in the eyes and understood why the Jarl had been unable to stay with the Greybeards. Had Ulfric even listened to a word they had said? All he had done was challenge everything they had said. “I am not just here to retrieve my friend and ally, but I have also come here on behalf of the Greybeards. They summon you to High Hrothgar to meet with them and the delegates who represent the Empire in Skyrim to negotiate a truce and put an end to this war so I can stop Alduin.”  
  
Of all the reactions, the last thing they expected was for Ulfric burst out in derisive laughter which was nearly overshadowed by the bellowing laughter of Galmar. The guards posted at the doorways in the throne rooms had been tense, but jumped to reach for their arms and teach these elves a damn lesson, but no such orders came even when this Dark Elf dared make such a bold claim.  
   
“I turned my back on the Greybeards years ago. While they cast their gaze to the skies, the land bled under the Empire’s yoke and I knew my fate did not lie with them, but with my people!” Ulfric had the attention of everyone in the room when he spoke, approaching Ganir. Ancano narrowed his eyes at the Nord, not trusting it when  the Jarl prodded the Dark Elf’s chest. “And suddenly, the Greybeards cast their gazes from the skies with the intent to intervene, sending _you_ of all people, claiming that you are Dragonborn…”  
   
“And you will be honor and oath-bound to oblige.” Ganir’s red eyes bore holes into the Nord, who was slightly shorter than he. Now that Ulfric wasn’t clad in his steel and ornamental armor, he didn’t look as imposing to Ganir. Aside from the finest wool and fur clothes, he wore a bearskin cloak and a medallion of Talos and a silver bear’s head hung from a chain around his neck. Ganir’s eyes slid to his right to glance over to where Ralof stood and he wondered what made his friend from Riverwood so passionate about following this man. Ralof’s eyes shot from his superiors to the Dark Elf, whom he had been so glad to see, but now he wasn’t so sure what to think.

“And you think I will simply answer their call like some kind of dog because you walk into _my_ palace with your wild claims?” Ulfric taunted. “If you truly are Dragonborn, we shall put it to the test, right here and now!”  
   
Ancano’s eyes shot to Ganir, who gave him a reassuring nod before locking eyes with the Nord again. “On the condition that you release Ondolemar if I am victorious.”  
  
“Then draw your blade, _elf_.” Ulfric stepped back and he grabbed his axe, which was strapped to his belt with a clasp. “And if you lose, I’ll have both your heads!”  
  
“Stand down!” Galmar snarled at the guards when they made to protect their Jarl. “You too, _elf_. If I see one of your magic tricks I will rip your arms from your torso.”  
  
Ancano, who had scowled at the notion of his shared fate with Ganir if the Dark Elf lost, shot the brutish Nord a haughty and disdainful glare. _As if…_ But as much faith as he had in Ganir to be victorious, he wasn’t so sure if that was the best in the long run or not. Nords held grudges and were known to be very sore losers.  
   
Ganir had barely unsheathed his daggers and stepped back to create some distance, when Ulfric charged at Ganir head-on without warning or hesitation.  
  
Ganir side-stepped the upwards blow the Jarl made to deal and the Dark Elf intended to slam his elbow against Ulfric’s ribs but Ulfric ducked and turned away, giving him the momentum to swing his axe at Ganir’s jugular, forcing the Dark Elf to back away.  
  
“What are you afraid of, elf? If you are Dragonborn, then you should fight like a true Nord!” Ganir was not on the defensive without reason but regretted raising and crossing his daggers to block the overhead blow as the strong impact numbed both his arms. _Then again, still better than have my skull split in half…_ Upon colliding, the enchanted glass daggers and axe sent sparks flying and Ganir kicked the Jarl in the chest. Ulfric stumbled back against the long table in the center of the throne room, but grinning from ear to ear, Ulfric grabbed a bottle of mead and downed it in one go before he smashed the bottle and threw it at the Dark Elf.  
  
Ganir ducked out of the way but anticipating the move he would make next, Ganir slashed his dagger at the Jarl’s stomach before shadow-stepping him to the right, briefly confusing Ulfric, which only angered the Nord. “Enough of this!” he roared. “ZUN HAAL VIIK!”  
  
As if invisible hands had grabbed hold of his daggers, they were torn from Ganir’s hands and sent flying. The brief confusion gave Ulfric the chance to ram into the Dark Elf. Ganir tried to stop him, but the Nord was immensely strong and with the wind knocked out of his lungs, the Dark Elf was sent skidding over the long table on his back, sending the dishes, cutlery, sheets and what else flying everywhere.  
  
The guards and Galmar began to cheer, which only boosted Ulfric’s confidence. “Well, _Dragonborn_? I have yet to hear any of your Shouts or do I need to beat them out of you?!” Arrogance got the better of Ulfric, who buried his axe into the long table and he climbed on top it. He strode over to Ganir, who had gotten to his feet. To the Nord’s dismay, Ganir bared his teeth in the rogue-ish, trademark smirk and took a deep breath that made his chest rumble.  
   
“FUS RO DAH!”  
  
The Jarl of Windhelm didn’t stand a chance against the sheer, raw power of the Dark Elf’s voice and Ulfric was sent flying before making an ungraceful landing near the steps up to his throne.  
   
Ancano scoffed. _Show-off._ But Ganir’s approach had been efficient as the Dark Elf had intended it to be because the silence that followed was one of disbelief. “I believe we have settled our…’differences’, Jarl Ulfric?” Ancano tried his hardest to not sound too smug, but seeing Ulfric as disheveled as he was, was priceless. Ulfric’s face was flushed red with anger and he glared daggers at the Dark Elf for humiliating him so.

 

* * *

   
  
“-,Ulfric had little choice but fulfill his end of the bargain.” Ganir concluded his retelling of how they managed to get Ondolemar out of Windhelm as the High Elf had been rather eager to know.

“What I wouldn’t have given to be a Skeever under the table to see that.” Ondolemar couldn’t deny he was impressed.  
  
The Dark Elf grinned and knelt down at the hatch to the Midden. He grabbed hold of the solid, metal ring and pulled the hatch up to reveal the way down. It had been quite some time since he had last ventured down here. Once they had made their way in, they closed the hatch behind them and the two elves were briefly engulfed by complete darkness until Ondolemar cast a spell of ‘Night-Eye’ to see in the dark like Ganir could.  
  
“Look.” Ganir grabbed hold of Ondolemar’s shoulder. “If you prefer to wait here, I really don’t mind. What I’m about to do…It’s rather gruesome and…” The Dark Elf scratched his scalp. “Just…wait here, all right?”  
  
“I would appreciate it if you stopped patronizing me like I’m some queasy rookie that can’t stand the sight of blood.” Ondolemar crossed his arms over his chest as he glared at the Dark Elf. “So, let’s go. I’d rather not leave you alone with him either.”  
  
Ganir heaved an agitated sigh, “That’s not the point! I just think it would be best-,”  
  
“That we do this together without further delay.” Ondolemar said in a firm tone. _Just why is he being so difficult over this all of a sudden?_  
  
The Dark Elf let out an annoyed growl. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”  
  
“Wait.” Ondolemar had _just_ sorted things with Ancano and the last thing he wanted was to be at odds with Ganir. “Why are you suddenly doing this? I thought we’d agreed…”  
  
“I didn’t exactly want to bring this up in front of Ancano…” The Dark Elf was clearly frustrated and ran a clawed hand through his dark hair as he sought the words. “Do you even grasp the concept of what I’m about to do? I just rather…” _Fuck it._ Ganir thought with an agitated sigh.“Just because you _might_ know what I’m about to do doesn’t mean I want you to _see_ it, simply because I don’t want you to think of me differently.”  
   
The High Elf was at a loss for words because he had no clue how to respond to this. He had been well-aware of Ganir’s true nature and while he had been worried about his safety at first, he had no reason not to trust Ganir. He felt safe with him and not once feared for his life even though he knew very well what the Dark Elf was capable of. So why would the Dark Elf damn well care now?  
   
“Just do me a favor and stay here.” The Dark Elf turned and made his way down deeper into the Midden without another word, leaving Ondolemar behind. Ondolemar’s confusion was soon replaced with anger. As if he, in all his years with the Thalmor, had not committed or witness countless atrocities that haunted him to this day! But was he dwelling on the past? No. He had to move on and redeem himself where able.  
  
Even if Ganir was an ‘abomination’, Ondolemar hadn’t looked at him like that since their venture to Blackreach. The Dark Elf no doubt could have massacred the Falmer, but instead chose to get the both of them to safety. And he wasn’t about to let the Dark Elf push him away and make the same error as Ancano had. Under the shroud of an invisibility spell, Ondolemar snuck after Ganir as silent as possible to where Thorelas had been incarcerated.  
  
_Auri-El be damned it’s dark and cold in here..._ But he froze, a chill running down his spine when he drew closer to the make-shift cell where Thorelas was bound by chains and held behind bars. The General had not been treated with any cruelty but despite that, had lost weight. When Thorelas saw it was the Dark Elf who had come, he swallowed and a flicker of fear could be seen in his eyes. This could not bode well, but deep down Thorelas _had_ known this would be his fate. But surely even if the Arch-Mage was no longer with the Thalmor, Ancano wouldn’t be _this_ cruel to have him executed so suddenly and cruelly for no apparent reason? “Is Ancano too much of a coward to kill me that he has his vampire pet do it for him?”  
  
Ganir looked at him with hollow eyes, trying his hardest to suppress the beast that stirred within him and not look at Thorelas as a prey to devour. His whole body thrived as he could smell the cold sweat of fear, see the dilation of the High Elf’s pupils and hear his heart race.  
“Don’t make this any harder than it is…” Ganir felt like a wolf on the prowl as he eyed the High Elf. The darkest thoughts surfaced but Thorelas saw nothing of Ganir’s inner struggle to suppress these urges. “It will-,”  
  
“Hurt?” The High Elf’s expression was one of contempt. “Why? What has possessed the Arch-Mage to do this to me, regardless of what I’ve done?!”  
  
_He could have stopped from killing innocent people you loved,_ the beast hissed in Ganir’s ears. _Look at the fool, shaking in his boots. Make him scream…_ “Were you in my shoes, I believe you would have done the same. You know as well as I that we can’t keep you here nor can we trust you to just let you go…”  
  
While Ondolemar watched the scene before him from the veil of darkness and invisibility, the High Elf was all too aware of how his body had broken out in cold sweat and he swallowed when Ganir approached Thorelas. The general looked outright terrified as he backed away, his eyes darting from the left to the right, unable to find any means of escape because he was bound by the chains. “Please…No. I beg you even!” Thorelas’ scream was stifled when Ganir pinned him against the wall and held him by the throat. Panicking, the High Elf thrashed, kicked and punched but all was to no avail. “Please…the lady Valanocke…”  
  
Only _now_ in the face of death was he going to talk in the hope of mercy? Ondolemar had even gone as far as offer him amnesty when he had interrogated Thorelas, but the general had been defiant, distrusting and too proud. Ganir’s temper flared and snarling, he tightened his hold on the High Elf’s throat. _You look so pitiful without your Lord Exarch, fancy armor and your men._ The beast briefly gained the better of him and Ganir rammed the High Elf against the wall again for good measure. He dug his claws into the Altmer’s throat. “Then talk, s’wit. Where are her parents?!”  
  
“I don’t know!” Thorelas wanted nothing more than scream for the help that would never come. No matter what he tried, the Dark Elf wouldn’t budge. “I knew Falintaor. He must have known the situation would escalate. The Valanocke estate was abandoned by the time we arrived!”  
   
Ganir’s hot breath came in puffs of smoke as his eyes locked on the High Elf’s. “I’m sorry…”  
  
“Please, no! NO!”  
  
Thorelas’ cry went unheard and the Dark Elf caught the Altmer’s arm mid-swing, pinning it against the wall. Ganir used his other hand to forcibly turn Thorelas’ face away from him to expose the High Elf’s neck. He pushed all of his weight against the High Elf to keep him in place before he sank his teeth into Thorelas’ neck, whose screams were reduced to nothing but pathetic, indecipherable whimpers.  
  
The moment Ganir’s teeth cracked the surface of Thorelas’ skin, Ganir groaned as the coppery scent greeted his nostrils and tasted the warm blood that poured into his mouth. Thorelas stood paralyzed in pain and fear and he slowly felt his strength leave his body but…it didn’t hurt. He cried out when the Dark Elf sank his teeth deeper into his neck without warning and he screamed. A deep, feral growl reverberated from Ganir’s chest while his claws tore at the ragged robes Thorelas wore and the Dark Elf’s claws sank into the High Elf’s body. With what little strength he had left, Thorelas began to thrash and clawed at Ganir’s head and arms, but the fear that overwhelmed the High Elf, and his struggle to survive only seemed to fuel the vampire’s cravings and determination. Thorelas felt his strength leave his body and that it went limp…and it was so cold.  
  
_This is … I never wanted…_ Black dots danced before Thorelas’ eyes. Of all the ways he thought to meet his end, this was not one of them. And just when he thought death would embrace him, the Dark Elf pulled back and tore his own hand open, forcing the Altmer to drink the blood that poured from the wound in the palm of his hand.  
  
Thorelas sank through his knees and gagged. The stench and taste of all that blood would never leave him. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and all he could think of as the darkness welcomed him, was that he would wake a monster like Ganir was. Closing his eyes, he could hear the almost sensual, silken murmur of the Dark Elf’s incantations that eased Thorelas into the fate of his undeath.

Ondolemar realized he had held his breath all this time, unable to tear his eyes away and when he swallowed, it felt as though his rapid-beating heart sank down back to his chest. He had dealt with a vampire in the past and he had seen the mutilated bodies…But this… __  
  
Ganir caught Thorelas in his arms and laid his lifeless body down on the cot. The Dark Elf then grabbed a tankard that stood on a small table and used the contents of it to rinse the blood off his armor and out of his beard. He then took a swig and spat the mixture of water and blood out of his mouth, gagging and heaving.  
  
Realizing the Dark Elf would be done soon, Ondolemar turned and made to sneak back to the Midden’s entrance, when the wind was suddenly knocked out of his lungs as he was rammed against the wall. Ondolemar’s mind reeled to comprehend how the outright _livid_ Dark Elf had been able to not only detect him, but also make his way to him so blindingly fast out of nowhere.  
   
Upon impact, not only did his invisibility spell wear off but the wound on his back had been torn open again and began to bleed. Ondolemar froze when he could see the terror written all over his face in the reflection of the Dark Elf’s red eyes that held a vivid, wicked glow.  
  
“What did I tell you?!” Ganir had his lip pulled up in a snarl and while Ondolemar couldn’t see, Ganir again struggled against that monster deep inside of him. Because he had just fed, all his senses piqued to the highest sensitivity. Ondolemar’s scent and warmth…It all woke the darkest and most carnal of urges and desires he had suppressed since long before he met the High Elf. Right now, he wanted nothing more now than ravage Ondolemar and sink his claws and teeth into his flesh. “Is _this_ what you wanted to see?!”  
  
“I’ve seen worse monsters when I look in the mirror…” Ondolemar winced when his back scraped against the wall as he tried wriggling from underneath the vampire. He had known the Dark Elf was strong but if Ganir lost his control now, he would be as good as dead because he'd be no match for the vampire. “You don’t even know a thing about the things I’ve done…” _When the executioner pulled the lever, the trapdoors gave and the ropes fastened around the necks of the men and women on the gallows either choked the life out of them slowly, or killed them instantly with a nauseating crack. Their bodies were left dangling for the days to come for the crows to feast on._ “So yes…I’ve seen what I wanted to see…” Ondolemar could not look away from the razor-sharp teeth but forced himself to look into Ganir’s eyes, even if it chilled him to the core. He grabbed hold of Ganir’s hand that could strangle him with ease. “…I see a man who tries to do what he thinks and feels is right after all that’s gone wrong...”

The involuntary yelp that escaped Ondolemar was stifled by Ganir when he claimed the High Elf’s lips and sank his claws into the High Elf’s lower back and shoulder. Ondolemar was torn from his initial daze and disbelief when Ganir bit down on his bottom lip and slid his tongue into his mouth. Ganir’s tongue was as sharp and slick as his wit and it was clear he was in control.  
  
Having fed, Ganir was warm to the touch and he was far more passionate than Ondolemar could ever have imagined. Ondolemar was unable to suppress the groan that escaped him as they kissed. Ganir ground his body against Ondolemar's to keep him in place. Ondolemar reached for Ganir’s ear and stroked the length of it before he ran his fingers through the Dark Elf’s black hair. A deep, sensual growl emanated from the Dark Elf’s throat as their kiss deepened, but unable to restrain himself, the Dark Elf tore at the sash that kept Ondolemar’s robes in proper place.  
  
A shudder ran down Ondolemar's spine as the tips of Ganir's fingers traced his abdomen and his thumb drew circles over his waist, slowly inching towards his hips. “Ganir…” _Fuck…_ Ondolemar hissed and swore under his breath when the Dark Elf reached behind the High Elf with his other hand and dug his claws into Ondolemar’s ass without warning, causing him to jolt forward. When the Dark Elf pulled away and inched closer to Ondolemar’s neck, the High Elf instinctively raised his hands, but Ganir grabbed hold of them both and pinned them against the wall above Ondolemar’s head. “What are you…?”

  
Ondolemar’s eyes rolled into the back of his head when Ganir’s lips and tongue found that special, sensitive place in the nape of his neck and just below his ear. He could feel the Dark Elf’s lips curl into a smirk against his skin as he was in full control and had his way with the helpless High Elf who enjoyed every minute of it. Ondolemar writhed, painfully aware of his cock rising to attention for more but unable to return the affection. Holding both of Ondolemar's wrists together above his head, Ganir placed his free hand on the back of Ondolemar's head and kissed him again. As his hand explored the sharp contours of Ondolemar's chest, Ganir took long, deep breaths to regain some control. Everything about the High Elf had been fucking intoxicating and now that he’d seen his chance, he’d taken it…And not without pleasing results.

Their tongues coiled around one another in the High Elf’s mouth, who writhed in an attempt to break free from the Dark Elf’s grasp who knew exactly how to push his buttons. Nor was he used to not being the one in charge of things and on the receiving end of things, but he found he liked it even if it meant he couldn't hold or touch the Dark Elf. He ground his hips against Ganir's hand, who stroked the length of his erect cock. It hurt as it was still trapped in the confines of his attire, but as things were going , it no doubt would be long before... Y _ou fucking...smug..._  A frustrated growl escaped Ondolemar's lips when the Dark Elf began to toy with him and tease him. The Dark Elf's fingers would tug at the waistline of his pants and stroke his thighs before cupping and stroking the length of his throbbing cock again. Just when he expected and craved more, the Dark Elf would deny him.  
  
Ondolemar felt the pre stain the crotch of his pants and hissed when the Dark Elf's claws raked over his back in a loving fashion until Ganir felt the blood pour from the wound. Startled, Ganir pulled his hand away and broke the kiss as if burned.  
His chest rose and fell rapidly as if he’d run a great distance and looked at the blood that stained the palm of his hand. “Did…I do that?”   
  
“It’s fine…” Ondolemar assured him, out of breath. His face held a glow from both the arousal and adrenaline that still surged through his whole body. If he hadn't found the wound was bleeding...  
   
“I’m so terribly sorry. I got carried away and…” Ganir took a deep breath to gather himself. _I really let myself go…_ He released his hold on Ondolemar’s wrists and stepped back. Ondolemar felt no shame or fear when the Dark Elf’s eyes lingered on his exposed chest and the bulge in his pants.  
  
“Don’t give me that look. It’s not like you’ve not seen me like this before…” Ondolemar rubbed his sore wrists and was rather aware that Ganir had left a few claw marks across his torso.  
   
“If we’d be in Blackreach right now, I would be doing a lot more than just looking and you would be screaming.” Ganir leaned against the wall and exhaled. _If it wasn’t for the fact they would hear us…_  
   
The High Elf’s cheeks colored bright red and his eyes shot to where Thorelas lay. “I'd prefer all that without an audience...” He made to grab the sash of his robes, but Ganir was quicker and used it to pull Ondolemar close to him by the waist.  
  
“I’m going to play it straight forward with you…” Ganir’s eyes sought Ondolemar’s. “I don’t know where this will lead, but…as long as I’m in this ‘state’ and we’re in this situation, let’s just take it slow, all right?”  
  
“A class statement coming from the man who nearly ravaged me.” Ondolemar said dryly. _Not that I would have minded…_ “But I would appreciate it as well.” He then nudged his head in Thorelas’ direction. “Is he…dead, or?”  
  
“He will wake the night after this. I’ll need your help to smuggle him out of the College.” Ganir replied, trying his best not to stare at Ondolemar. He wasn’t an idiot and had known the High Elf had been attracted to him, but he’d been careful to act. But he was fine with how things were for now. “We should probably head back up and inform Ancano once you’re…proper again.”  
  
Ondolemar ran his fingers over his scalp and exhaled. “I think I need a bath first...”  
  
“Don’t worry, I can inform him on my own,” Ganir assured him. “Unless of course you need someone to scrub your back.”  
  
“Oh shut up.” Ondolemar snorted as he adjusted his robes.  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't exactly -want- to add this minor detail, but through the course of this story, I hope you picked up that one of Ganir's main vampire-abilities include that he can 'shadow-leap' so to speak, which is why he was able to not only detect Ondolemar so fast, but also pin him to the wall in such a delightful, but painful fashion as described.
> 
> Again, thank you very much for taking your time to read this chapter and I hope you enjoyed it. I welcome any comments/criticism/tips and pointers. If you liked it, you're also free to comment, of course, and if you want, you can also leave a kudo. Have a nice day!
> 
> ZUN HAAL VIK is the 'Disarm' Shout


	31. A Season Unending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A season unending. One side always retaliating for the crimes of the other, starting a never-ending cycle of hatred and retribution for something the other has done.
> 
> Will Ganir succeed in convincing the Stormcloaks and Imperials to come to a truce?

**Chapter 30  
**  
Staring into the fire, Ganir mulled over the argument he’d had with Thorelas. Once one was enthralled to the grasp and at the vampire’s mercy, very little free will remained, but though he was bound by blood and dark magic to serve the Dark Elf, Thorelas’ spirit was bitter, spiteful and unbroken. But not beyond redemption.  
  
_“What you’ve done to me…I will never forgive you.”_ Thorelas had spat. _“I will rip your heart out!”  
  
“Don’t act like you didn’t have this coming.” _ Ganir growled with his arms crossed over his chest. _“Now, before we get down to business, where are Cirilonde’s parents?”  
  
_ Derisive laughter escaped the High Elf before he visibly flinched and his whole body tensed up. _“Filthy…ARGH!”_ he spat on the ground at Ganir’s feet. _“Do you think that if I were to tell you, that you would find them? Don’t think me some heartless wretch, ashborn. They are safe and well thanks to me.”  
  
“Then tell me…” _ As defiant as he had been, Thorelas filled with utter fear and dread when the vampire lift him by the throat. “ _…Where. Are. They? Don’t you think they deserve to know their daughter is dead because of_ you _?”  
  
Thorelas’ eyes glazed over but hatred still burned deep within. “’twas not my doing, but very well, if this is what you will, I will find them for you.” _ Thorelas’ bargain was a bold one. _“After that…do with me what you will.”  
_  
Though neither of the three elves could see the entrance of High Hrothgar, their heads turned in the general direction of the doorway that led to the Entry Hall when they heard the doors open and close.  
  
“Jarl Balgruuf, is it not?” they heard Arngeir ask. “Welcome to High Hrothgar. I am Master Arngeir.”  
  
“Yes, it is an honor to meet you, Master Greybeard. I thank you for welcoming me into your monastery,” Balgruuf replied.  
  
All of them had known beforehand, but now that the actual moment was drawing near, the elves grew all too aware that far more was at stake with these negotiations than gaining permission to trap a dragon in Whiterun’s palace.  
  
Ancano laid his hand on Ondolemar’s shoulder when he made to follow Ganir and the High Elf looked up at the Arch-Mage. “I require you to stay out of sight and listen in on the meeting. Just in case.” Ancano said to him. The sudden change of heart was not entirely unexpected, but still, Ondolemar wasn’t too pleased with it.  
  
“I refuse to hide any longer.” Ondolemar argued.  
  
“This has nothing to do with being a coward,” Ancano replied. “You know-,”  
  
The doors opened again and Ancano furrowed his brow. There was no way either the Imperial or Stormcloak delegation would’ve made their way here already.  
  
“Who are you? What is the meaning of this?” Arngeir’s inquiry was accompanied by a groan from Ganir.  
  
“Just what do you think you’re-,”  
  
“So, Arngeir, is it?” Ancano and Ondolemar exchanged startled glances when they both heard the all too familiar voice and they made their way to the entry hall where indeed, entirely unexpected but still, they weren’t _that_ surprised all the same, that Delphine and Esbern stood there. “You know why we’re here. Are you going to let us in or not?”  
  
“You were not invited here,” Arngeir’s calm demeanour was a silence before the storm. “You are not welcome here!”  
  
“We have as much right to be at this council as all of you, especially if even _they_ are here.” Delphine pointed a finger at Ondolemar and Ancano. “More, actually, since we were the ones that put the Dragonborn on this path.”  
  
Ancano’s eyes shot towards Ganir, who looked about ready to Shout both the Blades off the mountain, but the both of them also knew that Delphine especially would come climbing back, even more determined than before. “Were you now?” Arngeir crossed his arms over his chest to hide how he was shaking with rage. “The hubris of the Blades truly knows no bounds.”  
  
“If it were up to you, the Dragonborn would sit-!”  
  
“Delphine!” Esbern pulled Delphine back by her arm with surprising strength. “We are _not_ here to rehearse old grudges.” He continued to chastise her. “The matter at hand is urgent. Alduin must be stopped!” He then looked at Ganir and Arngeir. “You wouldn’t have called for this council if you didn’t agree. Please, Master Greybeard, allow our presence. We know a great deal about the situation and the threat that Alduin poses to us all. We are here to ensure that this council succeeds.”  
  
Arngeir visibly fought an inner struggle. These Blades stood against all he represented with the Way of the Voice. But if they truly were here to help and could help…Not that he had an actual say in anything at this point anymore, which he genuinely wanted to begrudge the Dragonborn, but that was their way. He heaved a deep sigh. “Very well, unless the Dragonborn objects, you may enter.”  
  
“Trust me, I thought I was rid of them.” Ganir growled. “So I hope for your sake, you’re not making matters worse simply by being here. Mark my words, I will throw you off this mountain myself if I have too.”  
  
“No, we are truly here to help, Dragonborn. Once we heard what you were planning, we had to get here. We are oath bound to serve.” Esbern said. “And this dragon-trapping scheme. How exactly do you intend to pull this off?”  
  
Balgruuf and Irileth had witnessed this most odd exchange with mixed feelings, but the old man’s question was certainly on point. “You didn’t miss out on that detail, I hope, Dragonborn?” Balgruuf asked.  
  
“Of course I haven’t.” Ganir replied. “I have but to Shout the name of one of his allies and they will come seeking me out.”  
  
“So that’s why we couldn’t find your notes, Esbern. You didn’t lose them…” Delphine had yet to determine whether she was cross with the Dark Elf or impressed. “So, tell me, what are these-,”  
  
“I needn’t tell you a damn thing.” Ganir snapped in a sharp tone. “ Which  reminds me…” He then extended his hand. “Your weapons. Here. Now.”  
  
“Surely you can’t be serious…!” But Esbern unclasped Delphine’s blade from her belt before she could even argue it with the Dragonborn and handed Ganir his dagger to him.  
  
“We trust your judgement, Dragonborn,” the old Nord said, “and we await your orders.”  
  
Annoyed, the Dark Elf rolled his eyes. “Just get to the Council Chambers and wait for the delegations there.”  
  
“We shall discuss your plans later, Dragonborn.” Balgruuf said, laying a hand on the Dark Elf’s shoulder. “I am sure you have much to think about before their arrival.”  
  
He genuinely did not envy the Dark Elf’s position even though his was similar; trapped between two angry bears who were ready to rip him apart if he so much as made a wrong move or displeased one of them too much. So much depended on these negotiations.  
  
“Thank you, Jarl Balgruuf. I’m sure the wait shouldn’t be much longer.”  
  
Once the Jarl and his Housecarl had surrendered their weapons as well, they made their way to the Council Chambers as well. Ganir leaned against the wall and rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers. “Ondolemar, do me a favour, keep an eye on them. I don’t trust them for a minute to not sneak off or cause some trouble one way or another,” Ancano said.  
  
The order was sudden and unexpected but Ondolemar shared the sentiment. With the swift incantation of an invisibility spell, he disappeared. “Whatever witty or snide remarks you have, Ancano. Please, just not now.”  
  
“You wound me.” Came Ancano’s sarcastic reply. “I see no reason for you to worry. We have gotten this far…”  
  
Ganir looked up, unable to contain his disbelief or suppress the laugh that escaped him. “Are you honestly attempting to be supportive right now?”  
  
“And not doing all too terrible, it seems.” He had never seen Ancano smile. _If Ciri could see you right now_ …  
  
“Thank you for everything, Ancano.” Ganir said. “Without you or Ondolemar, we wouldn’t have gotten this far.”

There was an odd flicker in the Altmer’s eyes and he nodded. “You ought to get ready. They will be here soon.” Ganir nodded back at Ancano and the Dark Elf walked up the steps to the Monastery’s Inner Courtyard, where Arngeir had gone after taking the Blades, Balgruuf and Irileth to the Council Chambers.  
  
It would be hours before anyone else arrived.  


 

* * *

 

 

 

Nearly a year ago, the Emperor had assigned Tullius as Military Governor of Skyrim to quell the civil uprising. In Tullius’ eyes the petty rebellion was fuelled only by Ulfric’s hunger for power, but it didn’t take him long to learn that the Nords’ political structure and agendas were far more complex and divided than he’d initially thought. And all of it, including this war, was a result of influence and subtle manipulations administered by the female High Elf who had accompanied them on this journey up this damned, forlorn mountain.  
   
Elenwen lacked neither for cunning or ambition and Tullius grudgingly had to admit that he had met his match. She was no mere, simple-minded politician but a calculated, brilliant diplomat and strategist. He was well-aware that the Thalmor and Aldmeri Dominion benefitted from the political strife in Skyrim to weaken the Empire even more. All the more reason why he questioned her interest in attending this ‘peace council’.  
   
Had he not laid eyes on the black dragon himself back in Helgen, Tullius would never have believed any of these prophetic claims of dragons returning. But with many questions left unanswered in regards to the recent chain of events he had answered the call to attend this peace council.  
   
“Do you think they will come?” Elisif did her title of ‘the Fair’ justice. She was a beauty of a mere twenty-four years with a fair, pale complexion, red hair and hazel-coloured eyes…and already a widow. Jarl Torygg had been defeated in ‘honourable combat according to the old ways’ by Ulfric who had ‘shouted him apart’. The young Elisif was now left to rule a warring nation and she had barely had the chance to mourn the loss of her husband, but she was brave and strong…and had General Tullius, whom she admired and respected.  
  
Holding her fur coat tight, she peered in the distance from the mountains, the harsh wind brushing past her. Skyrim was so beautiful…  
  
“Ulfric would lose face if he didn’t show,” Rikke answered. She was a fierce, Nord woman in her mid-thirties, clad in leather and steel, Imperial armor. Her face was set in a harsh, determined expression and her eyes were as piercing blue as Skyrim’s sky. She glanced over to the High Elf female, barely able to suppress a smirk as the she-elf was trying her best to hide that the cold was actually getting to her. “Are you ready to continue as well, Lady Elenwen? We’d best not keep  the Greybeards waiting.”  
  
“Then why don’t you lead the way?” Elenwen’s eyes shot fire. If only she could get away with causing an avalanche that could knock the damned Nord off the mountain… “I’m sure you are far more familiar with these _primitive_ regions than one such as myself.”  
  
_Ploughing she-elf…_ Rikke bit her tongue when Tullius shot her a warning glare and she led the way up to the monastery where a monk stood waiting for them. At his side stood a large chest and upon looking in after he pointed at it, Tullius and Rikke immediately recognized Galmar’s Warhammer, Ulfric’s battle-axes and there was also another battle-axe.  
  
As reluctant as they both were, Tullius and Rikke unsheathed their swords and daggers and placed them in the chest. “You too, Milady…” Tullius said to Elisif, who grudgingly removed a small dagger she had hidden in the sleeve of her gown under her fur coat and threw it into the chest. The Greybeard’s keen grey eyes then lingered on Elenwen and then nodded. Without a word still, he turned and led the way inside after motioning for them to follow.  
  
_By Talos…what a dreary place…_ Was the first thing that came to Tullius’ mind once inside until he heard an all too familiar voice that grabbed all of their attention.  
   
“Now it is but waiting for the Imperial dogs to show their face, if the Thalmor even permit them.” Ulfric’s haughty sneer came from a room in the far back to the right. Tullius and Rikke exchanged knowing glances, both thinking the same.  
  
Tullius then glanced over to Elisif, who had swallowed and began to tremble, but not from the cold. “Don’t worry. We’re here.” He assured her and she nodded, grateful. _To see the man who killed the man you loved…_  
  
He turned his head to wonder why Elenwen had not made some veiled, subtle but rude remark about the monastery or the monks. Though she had recovered remarkably fast and hid it well, Tullius had caught the glimpse of pure shock on her face and how she had visibly paled. Following her gaze, he looked over at the High Elf in the company of one of the monks.  
  
High Elves weren’t that rare of a sight in Skyrim with the Thalmor crawling all over the place like rats, but this Altmer was definitely not a Thalmor. He was clad in triangular-styled fur and velvet robes with golden trimmings. When he met Elenwen’s gaze, Tullius was certain not even the howling winds from outside cut through the tension that hung in the air and Tullius wondered what the connection between the two was.  
   
The Greybeard’s eyes shot from the elf at his side, to the First Emissary and then cleared his throat. “Arch-Mage? Could you be so kind to guide our guests to the Council Chambers while I retrieve the Dragonborn?”  
  
The Arch-Mage’s glare was intense as though he hoped Elenwen would catch flame any moment, lest he make sure she would, but when the monk asked him a question, he turned his head towards the monk and bowed his head. “But of course, Master Arngeir…”  
  
The monk bowed his head in return and walked up the steps and left through a door which seemed to lead to the inner courtyard of the monastery, briefly causing a cold gust of wind to brush past all of them, chilling them to the bone for a few seconds. When the Arch-Mage stepped forward, there was a flicker in Elenwen’s eyes and Tullius had no idea what was going through her mind, but when the Arch-Mage and she shook hands, and her gaze fell down to his hand, she almost jerked it back as if burned.  
  
The Arch-Mage held on, however, his eyes not leaving hers, which were unable to look away from the ring on his gloved finger. Tullius hadn’t seen any ring like it himself, but immediately recognized that the golden, gemmed signet ring bore the Eagle of the Dominion with some inscriptions he could not read or recognize. What was it about this ring that had Elenwen react so suddenly, try as she might to conceal it? Was this Arch-Mage secretly some high-ranking Thalmor after all? But surely not possible, given the tension between the two…So what was going on?  
  
“Lady Elenwen, we meet again,” the Arch-Mage’s voice was smooth as silk and betrayed nothing of the contempt he felt towards her that was quite visible in his eyes. “I take it you had no issues leaving the comforts of your solar at the embassy?”  
   
“But of course not, my dearest Ancano. It is so good to see you.” Her voice dripped with sweet venom and she looked ready to crush the Arch-Mage’s hand were she able. “I take affairs are well in order at your College in Winterhold?”  
  
“Quite well,” Ancano replied. “The College was most delighted to receive the unexpected guests you sent our way from the Dominion. I’m sure even General Tullius heard, given their renown…”  
  
Tullius frowned and he shot Elenwen a questioning look. _Interesting…I wasn’t informed…_  
  
It was only Ancano who could tell, however, that Elenwen’s mind was reeling for something to do or say to control the damage. If _anyone_ knew she had neglected any of her duties it would be beyond scandalous! And heads would roll for sure, and not just hers!  
  
“But I am sure the Lady Elenwen will be more than glad to inform you once we have come to a truce, which I believe is a priority now…for the sake of Skyrim…” The Arch-Mage’s eyes did not leave Elenwen’s, whose cheeks held a rosy glow as she fumed in silence. “But indeed, Elenwen, it is _so good_ to see you.”  
  
The Arch-Mage stepped back so Elenwen could pass and he then shook hands with Rikke, Tullius and Elisif, who seemed rather taken by the subtle, silver scars that lined the handsome Altmer’s face. “It is a pleasure to meet you, and I’m glad to see that the College of Winterhold has taken an interest in the political affairs that trouble Skyrim,” Elisif said to him.  
  
“Certain circumstances cannot be ignored if they affect even us,” Ancano replied with little regard for the young woman’s praise. She was but a mere child in his eyes, manipulated by a vile serpent and those who believed in a crumbling Empire.  
  
_It’s all in your hands now, Ganir…_ Ancano thought and he wished Cirilonde had been here, even if he was unsure of what she could have done, it sure as hell would’ve soothed his mind a lot more. Elenwen _would_ be trouble.

“Please, follow me. The Dragonborn should join us shortly,” Ancano said and he gestured for them to follow him to the Council Chambers which were as sombre as the rest of the monastery, lit only by the fire in the pit at the centre of the oval, stone table.

There was a seat at each head of the table, which were both empty. On the left, sat an elderly man and Breton female. Next to them, sat Ulfric’s most trusted lieutenant, Ralof of Riverwood and next to him, sat Ulfric. Galmar Stonefist’s eyes narrowed at Rikke, who glared daggers back at him as they made their way into the room.  
“Jarl Balgruuf, it is good to see you, though I wish the circumstances were less dire.” Elisif was sweet and considerate as ever, paying no heed to the Stormcloaks whatsoever after she shot Ulfric a deadly, hateful glare.  
  
“As do I, Jarl Elisif,” Balgruuf said. “Please, have a seat.”  
  
The chairs were made of stone and leather, providing very little comfort but it would have to do and the Imperial delegation took their respective seats across from the Stormcloaks. A toxic tension hung in the air while the Arch-Mage made his way to the far end of the room and remained standing near the seat no doubt reserved for the Dragonborn.  
  
But the tense bubble that had lingered was burst to bits by Ulfric when he laid eyes on Elenwen. “You have some nerve to bring that Thalmor _bitch_ here, Tullius.” Ulfric pulled his lip up in a snarl and it had not only been the three Stormcloaks who instinctively reached for their absent weapons, but also the old man and woman.  
  
_Just who are these people?_ Tullius wondered.  
  
“Or could you not break away from your elven mistress’ leash?” Ulfric continued with a sneer. “Do you realize you are insulting us by bringing _her_ to this negotiation? Your chief Talos-hunter?”  
  
Rikke suppressed the urge to groan. “That didn’t take long…” she muttered under her breath.  
   
“Hear! Hear!” Galmar bellowed in support of his Jarl’s statement. “This is a truce for the people of Skyrim. That knife-ear has no place in being here.”  
  
As much as he loathed Ulfric’s blatant, arrogant ways and philosophies, he had to admit that the Jarl of Windhelm was fearless to call someone as dangerous and powerful as Elenwen out.  
   
Elenwen’s eyes shot to Ancano, who stood near the head of the table where the Dragonborn would soon be seated. _I’ll get you yet…but don’t you dare think for a moment you control me like I control these human inbreds…_ “I have _every_ right to be present at these negotiations to ensure that the terms of the White-Gold Concordat are honoured,” she replied to Ulfric.  
  
“She’s part of the Imperial delegation. You can’t dictate who I bring to this council, Ulfric,” Tullius added in a sharp tone. As much as he’d rather _not_ have her present, he had to be careful with what he said. But Elenwen knew better and she would have to weave her web more intricately to keep the General on her leash. Even for a human, he was far more dangerous than he let on.  
   
“You know damn well that you’re deliberately provoking me by bringing that Thalmor scum here, Tullius.” Ulfric hissed. “She has _no_ place in these negotiations. Plough the White-Gold Concordat and the Dominion.”  
  
A statement vindictive and destructive enough to elicit a war…had Elenwen not been under strict orders. “Ulfric, why so hostile? After all, it’s not the Thalmor who burn down your farms and-,”  
  
“Ah, Master Arngeir, Ganir, glad you could join us.” Ancano’s statement made all the heads turn to the room’s entrance. Arngeir had heard but a glimpse of the conversation but he was most thankful that their arrival had provided enough distraction and he quietly sat down. Or rather, it was Ganir, who had.  
  
Tullius’ jaw clenched instinctively to keep it from dropping as he never forgot a face and this went against all his expectations and suspicions of what this ‘Dragonborn’ looked like in his mind. This was the Dark Elf from Helgen!  
  
“Are we ready to begin, Master Arngeir? Ganir?” Ancano then asked, quite content with Elenwen’s reaction to seeing Ganir. Her expression was one between outrage and disbelief even though the intelligence she had received indicated that this ‘Dragonborn’ was a Dark Elf, she never would’ve anticipated for it to be the same who left a trail of death and destruction at the Embassy.  
  
“I am. Dreadfully sorry to keep you waiting.” He gave Elenwen a particular look as if daring her to say or do something. “But now that we’re all here, I think we’re ready to begin the negotiations.”  
   
“But we are not ready,” Ulfric said to Ganir, who had barely taken his seat at the other end of the table between Rikke and Galmar. “The Thalmor have no place here. _She,_ ” he pointed an accusing finger at Elenwen, “-,needs to leave.”  
   
“Her presence is required to validate the terms of the truce, should we reach one, Ulfric.” Tullius looked right and ready about to rip Ulfric’s head off. If the dolt was unable to see the bigger picture, why was he even here?  
   
“I doubt her presence is much of a disruption,” Ancano looked rather annoyed and crossed his arms over his chest. “After all, the Lady Elenwen but functions as a mere observer at this point, does she not?”  
   
Had looks been able to kill, the Arch-Mage would have been dead and buried by now, but he seemed to take delight in the First Emissary’s predicament. Just _what_ kind of influence did this man have over someone as powerful as her that she conceded? “The Arch-Mage is correct as after all, the Dominion wouldn’t _dare_ think of interfering with your civil war,” Elenwen held her head high. “We have but the best intentions for the Empire.”  
  
“Then I assume it is settled?” Ancano raised a brow at Ulfric, who nodded and sat down. While still not entirely content with Elenwen’s presence, it would have to do. “Can we finally begin these negotiations then?” Though Tullius and Ulfric looked about ready to rip each other’s heads off, they both nodded.  
  
“Before we begin, I have something to say first…” Ulfric said, staring Tullius down.  
  
“Here we go…” Rikke heaved another, deep and annoyed sigh.  
  
“The _only_ reason I agreed to attend this council was to deal with the dragon menace,” Ulfric continued and ignored Rikke’s remark. “There is _nothing_ else to talk about, unless the Empire is finally ready to renounce its unjust claim to rule over the free people of Skyrim.”  
  
Rikke took a sharp breath and hissed in pain when Tullius kicked her against the shins under the table when he saw she was about to make another remark. Grudgingly, she grumbled. “I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist…”

  
“-,We’re here to arrange a temporary truce to allow the Dragonborn to deal with the dragons. Nothing more. I consider even talking to the Empire a generous gesture.”

Are you done making your speeches, Ulfric?” A small vein near Tullius’ temple began to throb with agitation. He ought to teach this arrogant whelp a lesson… “I’d like  to get down to business.”  
  
The Jarl of Windhelm let out a grudging growl that his speech had not affected the Imperial General as he had hoped. “Yes, very well then. Let’s get this over with.”  
  
“Now that we are ready to proceed...” Arngeir’s patience had to be beyond golden if he tolerated these two aggressive men in a place of peace such as High Hrothgar. “Jarl Ulfric. General Tullius…” Arngeir looked at all the faces, new and familiar to him as he stood up. “This council is unprecedented. We are gathered here at the Dragonborn’s request. I ask that you all respect the spirit of High Hrothgar, and do your best to begin the process of achieving a lasting peace in Skyrim. Who would like to open the negotiations?”  
  
“Yes…let’s get down to it then.” Ulfric’s demand then came loud and clear without shame, “We want control of Markarth. That’s our price for agreeing to a truce.”  
  
Elisif’s temper flared. “You _dare_ to insult the Greybeards by using this council to advance your own position, Ulfric? Is that why you’re _really_ here?”  
  
“Jarl Elisif, I will handle this,” Tullius tried to calm the young woman down, but she wouldn’t have any of it.

“General, this is outrageous!” she exclaimed. “You can’t be taking this demand seriously! I thought we were here to discuss a truce!”  
  
“Elisif!” Raising his voice immediately silenced the young Jarl. “I said ‘I’ll handle it’.” He emphasized, glaring at her. _So young and inexperienced…_ “Ulfric, you can’t seriously expect us to give up Markarth at the negotiating table just because you’re unable to take it in battle…”  
  
The snide remark was smoothed over by Arngeir, “I’m sure that Jarl Ulfric doesn’t expect something for nothing…”  
  
“Yes, that would be _entirely_ out of character,” Rikke muttered under her breath again, shaking her head.  
  
“Unless of course, the Empire received something in return…” Ancano offered.  
  
“Wait. General, surely you don’t intend to just hand over Markarth to that…that _traitor_!” Elisif exclaimed once more, her eyes searching his.  
  
_Nothing but an ill-tempered child_ , Ancano thought with a scoff. _No wonder the Empire was so easily overrun._ And when exchanging glances with Elenwen, she clearly shared the sentiment. Had it not been for Tullius, though, this conflict would have escalated badly.  
  
But the outrage wasn’t just Elisif’s, because Balgruuf too voiced his disbelief. “This is how the Empire would repay us for our loyalty and just sell us out to the highest bidder?”

“Enough!” The tankards and bottles that stood on the table shook under the impact of Tullius’ fist. Though he was a weathered war-veteran and general in his fifties, he was still strong as a bear and his voice was not one to be ignored. “First,” Tullius stood up, leaning on the table as he glared Ulfric down again, “Let’s be clear. This council wasn’t my idea. Personally, I think it’s a waste of time. _You_ are a traitor to the Empire and deserve a traitor’s death, _but…_ I at least will negotiate in good faith…”  
  
His eyes did not leave Ulfric’s after they shot towards Elenwen and he prayed the damn fool would take the hint. He then turned his head towards the Dark Elf, who, quite frankly, had unnerved him from the moment they had met. The Dark Elf had single-handedly taken out four, Thalmor battle-mages without suffering any injuries and though he had been sentenced to death, the Dark Elf had appeared fearless.  “Since we’re all here at your request, ‘Dragonborn’, I’d like to hear what you think Markarth is worth.”  
  
Ganir swore inwardly. Though he had learned plenty about the representatives on both sides from first-hand experience or from what Ondolemar and Ancano knew, he hadn’t expected Tullius to be _this_ direct. But, again, without Ondolemar and Ancano’s help, he wouldn’t have been as prepared for this question. _So you want Markarth, Ulfric? Very well then…_ “What about Riften?” Ganir suggested.  
  
Tullius seemed pleasantly surprised by the suggestion as it seemed a fair trade that would not only secure the Empire’s communications in Skyrim with Cyrodiil, but would also  threaten Ulfric’s southern flank… “You heard the Dragonborn, Ulfric. We’ve made you a fair offer. Are you serious about these talks, or are you here just to posture?”  
  
“You insult me by inviting me here in the good faith to negotiate and expect me to surrender what would threaten my capital, Dragonborn? I should’ve known better…” Ulfric’s eyes shot from Ancano to Elenwen and then to Tullius. “As for you, _General_ , I see now that Galmar was right. Talking to the Empire is just as useless as ever. If you think you can hold Markarth, you’re as deluded as your Emperor when he signed away our freedom to the Thalmor!” Now it was his turn to ram down his fist on the table. “Skyrim will _NEVER_ again bow to your false Empire!” Ulfric then took a sharp breath as he stood straight. _This had better work…Dragonborn._ “Galmar. Ralof. Let us go. This truly was a waste of my time.”  
  
“You always were a fool, Ulfric. You’re no better at diplomacy than you are on the battlefield,” Tullius taunted, sharing the sentiment in regards to the negotiations and how he wished now he had something at his disposal to use as a weapon.  
  
_And I didn’t even have to do a thing…_ Elenwen’s smugness didn’t last long, however, because Ancano didn’t look as distraught as she would’ve expected him to be. But just when the Arch-Mage made to intervene and ‘save the negotiations’, it was Esbern who got up and stood in the way of the three Stormcloaks who could easily crush him. “Stop it!” he shouted with surprising strength to his voice. “Are you so _blind_ to our danger that you can’t see past your petty disagreements?”  
  
As old and frail as he was, Esbern defiantly glared up at Galmar and Ulfric. “Here you sit, arguing about _nothing_ while the fate of the land hangs in the balance!”  
  
“Delphine,” Ulfric growled. “If this old fool is with you, I suggest you remind him whom he speaks too and that he watch his tongue…”  
  
“He _is_ with me.” Delphine protectively stood in front of Esbern. “And I advise that the _both_ of you listen to what he has to say, before you do anything rash you might regret…”  
  
Ganir genuinely wondered how Ulfric and Delphine knew one another as she hadn’t told him, but she clearly had Ulfric’s respect as he signalled for his men to back down. But the most noticeable was how Elenwen’s lips thinned into a line of silent rage once she realized who this old man and woman were; the last of the Blades! These were the damned culprits … Her eyes shot from Ancano to Ganir again and her blood began to boil, though her rage stemmed mostly from her inability to do anything about it…just yet.  
  
“Don’t you understand?” Esbern cleared his throat and was suddenly very aware of all the eyes on him. Finally. Someone would listen to him. After all these years of his warnings going unheard and unheeded…. “Doesn’t any one of you understand what the return of the dragons means? Alduin has returned! _The World-Eater_! Even now, he devours the souls of your fallen comrades! He grows more powerful with every soldier slain in your pointless war; all of the fallen prey to his hunger in Sovngarde!” Esbern took a moment to catch his breath. “Can you not put aside your hatred for even _one_ moment in the face of this mortal danger?”  
  
“A very pretty speech, but what does it have to do with…”  
  
“Shut up.” Ulfric spat at Elenwen and then looked at Arngeir, who had aged so much since he had left High Hrothgar. “He is right about Alduin, is he not, Master Arngeir?” When the old monk nodded, he turned to Tullius who had caught the very subtle hint of what was really happening and his eyes shot from Ancano to the Dark Elf. _Clever…Very clever…_ Tullius thought. “We have both as much to lose here, General. Remember that.”  
   
Ganir heaved a sigh of relief. Though it had not gone _exactly_ as planned, Esbern’s unexpected outburst had done the trick. “Now, back  to the matter at hand…” Ulfric continued. “Don’t hand me a mug of sheep’s piss and call it mead. These terms are still not acceptable.”  
  
Exasperated and not sure whether to be glad or not that Ulfric had stayed for these negotiations, Tullius heaved an agitated sigh. “I’m _sure_ you have something in mind.”  
  
“Yer damn right we do.” Galmar said.

“You will surrender Falkreath to us. Siddgeir steps down, and Dengeir of Stuhn resumes the Jarlship.” Ulfric’s demand was blatant and out of the blue, but not entirely unexpected, judging by the expressions of Tullius, Elisif and Rikke.  
  
“Where do these demands stop, Ulfric? Do you expect me to surrender all of Skyrim?!” Tullius exclaimed.  
  
Ulfric’s eyes shot towards Ganir. In his eyes, the Dark Elf had been as ignorant and poor of a diplomat as he had expected the Dark Elf to be. What else could be expected of an elf? “It seems I have no choice but to let the Dragonborn decide. Although I’m starting to doubt your…fairness.”  
  
Ganir swore inwardly but he had known that this was to be expected. He was reluctant, though, “It would seem fair, given the vast expanse the Rift covers.”  
   
Galmar’s laugh echoed through the monastery. “Spoken like a true son of Skyrim,” Ulfric smirked, quite smug over the massive victory he obtained should this be successful. Falkreath and the Reach… “I suppose that’s the fairest deal we’ll get…” He looked at Tullius, who was clearly biting his tongue, but if it meant a truce, then the Empire could focus more on rebuilding and strengthening its armies.  
  
“It seems we may have an agreement, then, Jarl Ulfric? General Tullius?” Arngeir asked, eager to end this while it was headed the right way. “These are the terms currently on the table. Markarth will be handed over to Ulfric’s forces. Jarl Igmund will step down, and Thongvor Silver-blood will become the Jarl of Markarth. The Stormcloaks will withdraw from the Rift, allowing Imperial troops unhindered access.”  
  
Ancano struggled to not look towards an empty corner of the room. Had Ondolemar still been in Markarth…The Silver-Blood family had it in for the Thalmor even more than the Blades.

“-,Jarl Laila Law-Giver will step down, and Maven Black-Briar will become the Jarl of Riften.”  
  
_Well, at least now Riften will live up to its poor reputation with an equally foul ruler…_ Ancano thought wryly. But the terms had not been agreed upon just yet.  
  
“-,Falkreath will be turned over to Ulfric, and Dengeir of Stuhn will return as Jarl. Do you both agree to these terms?”  
  
“The sons of Skyrim will live up to their agreements as long as the Imperials hold to theirs…” Ulfric’s cold, blue eyes locked with Tullius’ dark-brown ones, almost daring him. “What about you, Elisif? Are these terms to your liking? Speak up. I’m sure General Tullius is waiting to do your bidding.”  
  
“I have no words for that murderer,” Elisif hissed, turning her gaze towards Tullius. “General, you’ve proven yourself a good friend to Skyrim. I continue to trust that you will do your utmost to safeguard our interests.”  
  
He had to refrain from smiling but it was why he was so fond of the young Jarl. Though she was inexperienced and clueless, she had a heart of gold. “Thank you, Jarl Elisif. I appreciate your loyalty.” He then looked back at Ulfric. “The Empire _can_ live with these terms, yes. For a temporary truce, until the dragon menace is dealt with. After that, Ulfric…there will be a reckoning. Count on it.”  
  
“That is, if the truce can be validated not to violate the terms of the White-Gold Concordat,” Elenwen said. “After all, General Tullius, there is a vast amount of territory you are-,”  
  
“-,surrendering in the benefit of a temporary truce so the Dragonborn and his associates can handle the dragon menace unhindered,” Tullius glared the First Emissary down. “However, do tell me this, Dragonborn. How exactly do you plan to _trap_ a dragon in the palace of a city primarily made out of wood?”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so dreadfully sorry to keep any of you waiting, but I wanted to do this chapter right and I hope I've lived up to the expectations for a Season Unending; a quest that was of such a massive impact, but wasn't very palpable to me in the game as I hoped it would be. I mean, you're the 'criminal' that escaped Helgen, so I would've expected a more severe reaction from Tullius beyond what he says in Castle Dour, not to mention that the last of the Blades are so blatantly present in Elenwen's face like a 'fuck you, na na na na, what you gonna do about it, Thalmor bitch?"
> 
> Personally, I think she was seething furiously in silence over the whole situation spiralling out of her control, so I wanted to spice that up for her and give her more credit because she -is- an amazing character. And of course, I couldn't deny Ancano the petty victory of rubbing salt into her wounds


	32. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dovahkiin!” Odahviing taunted, bathing the Dark Elf in his shadow as he closed in. “Bo luft zey!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know where to begin on this chapter.
> 
> First of all, I'm -dreadfully- sorry to keep you waiting this long for an update, but I didn't want to rush a new chapter where so much would be going on and I wanted it done properly. 
> 
> Secondly, I'm aware I've not added translations like I used too, but it's 5AM here n.n; 
> 
> Thirdly, thank you for returning to this fanfic, I hope you will enjoy the read. Please leave a kudo if you liked it, or leave a comment with your thoughts. I'm aware I don't follow the 'exact' lore of the mainquest, but I figured that the way I've gone about it here is perhaps more 'alive' than how it was in-game.
> 
> Regards,  
> NoLoreMaster
> 
> PS: Seriously, again sorry to keep you waiting!

**Chapter 31**

Having seen much of the world, Whiterun was a city of simple Nordic and homely beauty where the cobbled path wound its way around the houses of which the rooftops were painted yellow and decorated with ornate woodwork. The city was surrounded by grassy hills, dotted with the pinks and blues from the wild flowers that grew near the creek and river. The whole view was serene and beautiful, bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun, but Ganir found it a foreboding of what was about to transpire.  
   
Even Tormagg could sense it as the steed impatiently shifted from one hoof to the other, bristling every once in a while as if to say, ‘get on with it!’.  
  
The Dark Elf glanced over his shoulder at the Great Porch of Dragonsreach, where he could see the lone silhouette of Ancano. Though he knew it wouldn’t be long now, he felt this ‘pang’ in his chest, as if it released that rush of adrenaline that began to surge through him and he grew all too aware of his breathing. One by one, he saw how the braziers on Whiterun’s walls were lit, until at last, Ancano also signalled that he was ready by shooting a flare of magical light into the sky.  
  
The Dark Elf’s red eyes sought the mountains around him, as if all  that would’ve been enough to lure the dragon, but he knew better and took a deep breath. _This is it…Here and now…_ He tightened his hold on Tormagg’s reins to keep the steed at bay when he Shouted, “ODAHVIING!” and his Voice was carried far into the mountains until its echo died.  
  
_“He shan’t deny the call.”_ Esbern had  said. “ _He will want to test his mettle against the Man who defied the World-Eater.”_  
  
Clad in the colors of blood in the snow, Odahviing came flying from the mountains in the North-East and bathed in the remaining light of the sun, he looked even more fierce than the sound of his roar alone showed. Ganir originally intended to gallop around the fields to make sure he had Odahviing’s attention, but when the lithe dragon was clearly headed straight towards them, he immediately turned Tormagg around and raced towards Whiterun’s gates, urging the horse to go as fast as it could.  
  
“Dovahkiin!” Odahviing taunted, bathing the Dark Elf in his shadow as he closed in. “Bo luft zey!”  
  
“Come and get me first then! See if you’re quick enough to catch me!” Ganir taunted in return, his voice barely audible over the thunder of Tormagg’s hooves and the horn that Irileth sounded; the signal to open the gates.

Balgruuf stood on the walls as well and once the dragon had appeared, he had ordered his archers to ready their bows. The moment Ganir raced through the gates, which had barely opened and the dragon came flying near over the gates, he bellowed, “FIRE!”.  Odahviing snarled at the rain of arrows that forced him to stay his airborne path in pursuit of the Dragonborn, who was headed towards Dragonsreach.  
   
“Even an army won’t save you, fahliil!” Odahviing swerved mid-air with the intention to land on the Drunken Huntsman’s rooftop, but it was then that Ondolemar, Esbern and Farengar came from their hiding places on the roofs of the barracks, Drunken Huntsman and the smithy, firing their magical spells at him. “Tricksters!” Odahviing snarled. The rapid flap of his wings nearly sent the men flying off the roofs, but they held on to the ropes they had fastened as a safety precaution and maintained their barrage of magical flame and lightning. Though his thick hide and scales protected him, Odahviing bared his teeth in a snarl. "Die, worms!"

He opened his maw with the intent to burn them all to a crisp when he was nearly knocked out of the air by a powerful Voice that shook him to the core. “FUS RO!”  
  
Ganir had seen that Odahviing’s focus had turned towards the mages and had immediately turned, rushing towards the small square near the city’s gates. The Shout alone was enough to get Odahviing’s attention, and Ganir had to hold on tight to Tormagg’s mane and reins as the horse was terrified of the dragon who was back in hot pursuit of them both.

“I will make you watch them burn once I’m through with you, elf.” Ganir tried his hardest to focus on the road ahead of him, the houses, statues and fountains all a blur but he could feel the dragon’s hot breath on his back. “Your game ends here!”  
   
The Dark Elf had made his way to the upper tier square of the city. All he'd have to do now, was make it up the steps to Dragonsreach and rush over the make-shift ramp to the Great Porch, but Tormagg was not fast enough.  
  
Ganir’s surroundings were a blur and Tormagg’s horrible, tearful cry of pure anguish tore not only at his ears but also his heart when Odahviing’s jaws snapped shut over the horse’s back and tore away at the horse’s body. With Tormagg torn from underneath him, Ganir was sent flying and he made a painful landing, rolling over the sharp, cobbled stone. Though most of his armor and his arms protected him, when he finally lay still on the ground, he could feel the warmth of blood pouring from somewhere on his head.  
  
Dazed and his vision blurry, Ganir managed to get to his feet, but he stood shaking in his boots. His stomach churned when he watched how Tormagg lay writhing on the ground. His hind legs were broken and his whole back was bloodied and twisted. Rage and grief overwhelmed Ganir.  
   
The ground shook when Odahviing made his landing and Tormagg’s panicked cry and widened eyes tore away at Ganir. “You care for this pathetic beast?!” Odahviing snarled and though he had not wanted too, Ganir looked away when the dragon rammed its winged talon down on Tormagg’s neck and the horse’s cries were silenced. “Enough of your games, Dragonborn. _Fight me!_ ”  
  
Though he wanted nothing more than rip the dragon’s hide off right now, Ganir grit his teeth. He wasn’t seeing one, but four dragons. His blood boiled in rage and frustration. _This isn’t going as planned…_ It would take all of his strength to will his mind and body to get itself together and work…if he survived for that long.  
  
When Odahviing roared and lunged forward, Ganir instinctively dove forward and down to the ground as it was the only and safest option and the dragon crashed into the statue of Talos and the wall behind it. “YOL TOOR SHUL!” Within seconds, the whole square was bathed in flames that burst from the furious dragon’s maw. “Face me with dignity and honor, Dovahkiin!”  
  
For a dragon his size, Odahviing was remarkably fast when he spun around and Ganir got too little time to think. Though the bright flames had shaken him back to the here and now, Ganir acted on pure instinct when the dragon dove towards him again. With the intention to grab the dragon’s horn and Shout the beast’s head against the ground, he hoped to find the time to lure the dragon into the trap this way. But Odahviing had anticipated this and swiftly turned his head away from the Dragonborn in an attempt to shake him off.

But Ganir held on and the momentum that Odahviing created by shaking his head, permitted for the elf to throw his weight back and swing himself onto the dragon's back by grabbing another horn with his free hand.  
  
Odahviing’s tail missed him by just and Ganir had to hold on to the spines on the dragon’s back to avoid falling off or getting impaled by one of the many sharp talons on the dragon's wings or tail. “Zu'u fen velaaz nau fos reyziin do hi mindin Zu'u gunaar hin qeth ko thok kolos hi engein, fahliil!”  
  
The sudden jerk nearly threw Ganir off the dragon’s back and though he now lay flat on his back, the Dark Elf managed to hold on with his legs and grab hold of a spine as Odahviing leapt, spread his wings and flew off. Aside from struggling not to vomit, Ganir also had no clue as to what was up or down anymore. Odahviing would rapidly twist and turn mid-air, going as far as even loop and brush past the ground and over the city’s rooftops by just in an attempt to throw the Dragonborn off his back.  
   
His muscles burned as he fought gravity to get himself sat upright, but that wasn’t the end of it as he had to hold on for his dear life and he pressed himself down on the dragon’s back. When he finally got his bearings straight, Ganir’s eyes widened when he saw they were headed straight back to Whiterun.  
  
“Fire!” Ancano and Ondolemar bellowed, both on separate ends of the city. The moment the arrows flew, both the elves cast their spells and they were set ablaze. Ganir was about to yell at them for almost hitting him, when he saw how it forced Odahviing to alter his flightpath to Dragonsreach.  
   
“You want to fight, Odahviing?! Then we fight!” Though he was small and insignificant to the dragon in weight and size, when Ganir threw all his weight forward to the left side of the dragon’s head, it was enough to catch the dragon’s balance off-guard.  
   
The rapid flutter of wings made Ganir worry for his safety as the sharp talons brushed past him by just, but as the dragon tried to steer itself back into balance, the Dark Elf saw his chance and though he was terrified and very aware of the altitude he was at, he took the jump, back on to the dragon’s neck and then to the horn on the right of Odahviing’s head.  
   
Because they were so close to the palace, Odahviing couldn’t steer away as he could break his wing and the two of them dove down towards the Great Porch. When Odahviing tried to recover, Ganir snarled, “FUS!” at the beast, in the hopes of disorienting it long enough. Both he and the dragon skidded over the stone floor as they made their less than graceful landing, but by rolling over the floor, Ganir lessened the pain of the impact some.  
  
The Great Porch was a massive balcony where most of Whiterun’s festivities were hosted, but very few knew what true purpose it had served many ages past. Dangling from the ceiling by massive chains, a solid, heavy yoke hung from the ceiling. But in his rage, all that Odahviing saw was the little elf within his grasp. “Nid staad wah ru uv iliis, Dovahkiin! Alok wah krif zey, nikriin! Meyvitaan!”  
  
“NOW!” Ganir yelled at the men on the battlements and they sprung the trap, diving for cover. A startled cry escaped the dragon as the yoke slammed down on his neck and locked him in place, trapped under the sheer weight of the yoke and chains.  
   
“Meyvitaan! Nikriin!” Odahviing swung his tail from the left to the right in an attempt to slam the stone pillars, but couldn’t reach them and he flapped his wings in a desperate attempt to lift off, but the yoke did not yield. His eyes locked on to the smug, but dazed Dark Elf that stood before him. “YOL TOOR SHUL!”  
  
The dragon’s toothy grin fell when the Dark Elf was unharmed by the flames. “Give up, Odahviing. I won!”  
  
Though the Dark Elf staggered and his face and hair were smeared with his own blood, he was still standing.  
  
“You went through a great deal of trouble to put me in this humiliating position, Dragonborn…But do not think me defeated!”  
  
“JOOR ZA FRUL!” Ganir poured all of his rage into the Dragonrend Shout; all the pain he felt right now along with the anger he felt over Tormagg’s loss.  
   
The dragon cried out and his pupil’s dilated as he was overwhelmed with a most primordial fear he, as a dragon, couldn’t know or understand to exist. To die in battle, that was one thing, but to suddenly grow aware of age and mortality, this was such an incomprehensible concept to Odahviing it shook him to the very core. “NID! Dovahkiin! NID! I yield! No more!”  
  
Though he didn’t exactly feel sorry for Odahviing, compared to Alduin, the Dragonrend Shout had such an impact on the dragon he submitted that Ganir could only imagine what Odahviing was experiencing right now. And also, why the Greybeards felt so strongly opposed against the Shout’s existence.  
Odahviing lowered his head to the ground as low as he could as a sign of his submission as he spoke. “I acknowledge the suleyk of your Thu’um, Dovahkiin, but I fear your victory is a small one. After all, you are after Alduin, are you not?”  
  
“That’s why we’ve gone through all this effort to get you,” Ganir fell to his knee as black dots began to dance before his eyes and his head felt as though someone was stabbing him repeatedly. “And you’re going to tell me where he is…”  
  
Odahviing at first cocked his head slightly before a deep rumble emanated from his throat. “Pruzah. Rinik vazah, Dovahkiin. Alduin bovil. He is hiding in Sovngarde where he feasts on the soul of the mortal dead to regain his strength; a power he jealously guards. How can you hope to even defeat him, as powerful as you are, Dovahkiin.”  
  
“By seeking him out in Sovngarde and you’re going to tell me how to get there.” Ganir spat some blood out of his mouth on to the ground. “Or need I kill you here and now and find another who’s more cooperative?”  
  
“Drem, Dovahkiin. Nid, you need not seek the aid of another. I will aid you.” The thick, dagger-like scales on Odahviing’s body rustled fearfully as a shudder ran through the beast. “But it is not as … easy as you think. Are you even sure you can you _truly_ defeat Alduin?”  
  
When Ganir made to run a hand through his hair, he pulled it away when he felt how soaked his hair and face was with his own blood. “This…isn’t good.”

The dragon regarded him with curiosity. The Dark Elf had made no attempts to veil his weakness, or was it a ruse? Regardless, he wasn’t about to try his luck. That Shout…that _horrible_ Shout. And his death would be a disgraceful, humiliating one; trapped like cattle.  
   
At first, Ganir thought the pounding he heard and felt was of his heart, but it was his head. He tried his hardest to suppress the nausea that overwhelmed him, along with the fatigue and pain. His back was bathed in cold sweat but he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold it much longer.  
“Ganir!” Ondolemar dove forward to catch the Dark Elf lest he hurt himself even more. The High Elf knew he had no reason to panic, but still his heart raced as the Dark Elf was unconscious and badly hurt.  
  
“Ancano!” Ondolemar called to his friend, who came running in. He was followed by the Blades, Jarl and Irileth.  
  
“Spare me your wahpaak, skahgein,” Odahviing bared his teeth in a snarl and hissed at Ancano, whose fingertips crackled with teal lightning as he initially thought the dragon and Ganir had fought. When the Arch-Mage saw that the dragon made no move to attack, however, he backed down, his dark golden eyes never leaving Odahviing’s grey ones. “I have yielded…But I will defend myself.”  
  
“He needs healing, Ancano, right now, or he won’t make it…” Ancano knew exactly what Ondolemar meant and after shooting the dragon a final, warning glare, he gestured for Ondolemar to follow him. Ondolemar lift Ganir up into his arms and carried the Dark Elf to safety.

 

* * *

 

 

Flaming, magical birds circled Ancano as he bathed in the gentle warmth of the morning sun. His primary focus lay on his breathing but he was enjoying the view over Whiterun and the plains beyond. His face fell into a scowl, however, when his peaceful morning meditation was crudely interrupted. The walls of Dragonsreach shook and a most loud, angry roar was audible on the other end of the palace, shortly followed by the clatter of boots and cries of panicked men.  
  
_Either that blasted lizard has a terrible morning mood…_ As he had feared, someone came knocking at the door to his chambers and with a tired, annoyed, “Enter,” he grabbed the overcoat of his robes.  
  
Proventus Avennici, still clad in his woolen nighties, burst into his chambers and looked very distraught. “Arch-Mage, we need your help!”  
  
“If it involves the dragon…”  
  
“It does! Quick! Please!” Before he could even answer, the Steward had run off, assuming the Arch-Mage would follow.  
  
Ancano heaved a deep, irritated sigh and rolled his eyes while buttoning his robes up. Though he had _no_ desire to get anywhere near a furious dragon (the beast’s roars still most audible in the background), he also knew that they would face a big problem if the dragon broke free in his rage.  
  
It was a good thing that Ancano had such swift reflexes, because he had barely made his way past the massive doors to the Great Porch when he was forced to raise a powerful barrier to withstand the flames that burst from Odahviing’s maw.  
  
“I _told_ that s’wit it was a bad idea, even for him,” Irileth grit her teeth as she and her men had all instinctively raised their shields for cover even if it was useless. The barrier that Ancano had raised proved more powerful and more than enough to protect them.  
  
But in spite of all the racket the dragon made, Ancano could clearly distinguish the panicked cry of Farengar who stood cowering in a corner from where he couldn’t, nor did he dare to try and flee. The Nord was also clutching something in his hand and it didn’t take long for Ancano to sort of figure out what the Court Mage had been up too.  
   
“Wahpaak, Joorre!” Odahviing snapped his jaws at the terrified Nord. “You _dare_ test my prem against my kaat to the Dovahkiin?! I told you to _begone_ , mage!”  
  
“I only took a sample!” Farengar cried. “Will someone _please_ just help me?!”  
  
“I can understand if you’re angry, Arch-Mage, but if you could please,-“  
  
The Arch-Mage hadn’t the best opinion of Farengar to begin with. In his eyes, the Nord was an arrogant, loud-mouthed prat everyone would listen to as there was no other competent soul around for miles in regards to any magical affairs.  
   
So the fact that Farengar had decided to brazenly walk up to a dragon and take ‘samples’ just confirmed the High Elf’s prejudices. “And you want me to help _how_ exactly?” Ancano sneered. Proventus winced when the High Elf shot him a haughty glare. “I’m afraid there’s no cure for such sheer stupidity, nor am I Dragonborn, so it will have to wait until Ganir is _fully_ recovered.”  
  
Proventus couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “But surely you wouldn’t-!”  
  
“Just watch me…-,” But Ancano had barely turned to leave when Odahviing’s voice rang clear, followed by a silence that Farengar used to scamper to safety as fast as he could now that the dragon’s attention was on Ancano.  
  
“Skahgein fahliil! Elf mage…” It was hard for Ancano to pinpoint the dragon’s demeanor as he still looked rather furious but the dragon had addressed him. Odahviing’s scales were rustled like a porcupine would rise its spines to defend itself and thick smoke emanated from the dragon’s nostrils. “I would…speak with you…” A deep low growl escaped Odahviing’s throat; a sound like a rockslide, as he narrowed his grey eyes at the House-Carl, her men and the steward. Farengar stood cowered near the doorway where he was catching his breath. “ _Naalein…_ Alone…”  
  
Ancano clenched his jaw and slightly tensed, flexing his fingers as he contemplated the dragon’s request. He knew he’d be fine. It was just not part of his morning routine to converse with a moody dragon. Nor was he sure if he could really trust Odahviing and Ganir hadn’t recovered yet either. “Well, what are you standing around for?” Ancano snapped at the Steward, House-Carl and the men. “You heard the dragon, move it. Crisis averted.”  
  
Irileth narrowed her eyes at the High Elf, but through gritted teeth, she ordered her men to stand down. “I better check on Farengar to begin with,” she growled, just as annoyed with the Court-Mage as the Arch-Mage was. “To your posts, men.”  
  
“Yes, I’ll be going too then…”  
  
“And don’t let me catch that bumbling fool here again,” Ancano snapped before he turned his attention to the dragon before him. Odahviing had calmed down some and Ancano noticed that the dragon was sizing him up as well. “I’m almost disappointed you didn’t burn the clod to a crisp…”  
  
The sound of rocks grinding over one another escaped from the dragon’s throat. There was a spark in the beast’s eyes. _A sense of humor?_ Ancano wondered. Though Ganir had killed three dragons, Ancano began to understand why he held them in such high regard when he had told Ancano and Ondolemar all about his adventures with Cirilonde.    
   
“Meyfir. Zin. Kah.” Odahviing’s throat rumbled but Ancano could not pinpoint what this odd sound indicated and he stayed his distance still. “I am aware you do not speak our vun, but I would speak with you, skahgein.”  
   
“I indeed do not, so I’d like to inquire as to what ‘skahgein’ means.” Though Ancano found it hard to distinguish the few words of the dragon speech he had heard, he had managed to distinguish some. Yet this was a new one.  
  
“Skahgein…” Odahviing briefly pondered on how to explain. “I do not know your name, lahzey, nor do I mean to be...vofir, without respect, but you are marked…tainted by something ancient and powerful…It is our way to speak to one another as such.”  
   
He wasn’t very sure if it was a good or bad thing that even a dragon could somehow tell that the Eye’s mark still lingered on him. Auri-El knew if he’d ever be rid of it or the scars that lined his whole body, which would ache from time to time if he exhausted his magical power too much. “But my name is ‘Ancano’, for the record. Now, what exactly is it that you wish to discuss with me?”  
  
“The power of my Thu’um can shake mountains, yet, when that mey decided to poke at my scales it was not the Dovahkiin but you who came. Where is he?”  
  
“Resting.” Ancano replied. “You needn’t worry he’ll leave you trapped here.”  
   
“That is not the matter, or the concern I needed press,” Odahviing said. “You do not…feel what the Dov do, Ancano. Tiid dahriit. There is little time.”  
   
The Arch-Mage furrowed his brow when the dragon’s body language betrayed his fear and anxiety over something. It made no sense, as they had all assured the dragon they would not harm him.  
  
“You must prepare, Lotlahzey Ancano. Do not forget that as powerful as you and your allies are, there are even more powerful beings who still fearfully serve Alduin. They will strike when he commands. Rok fen bo fah Gevildseod…the place you call ‘Winterhold’.”  
   
“What about Winterhold?” Ancano’s heart began to pound. _Surely not?!_ “Tell me, now!”  
   
“Alduin knows the Dovahkiin will come for him and though he is weakened, he is still Al-Du-In. When I take your Dragonborn, Ganir, to Skuldafn where he can find the portal to Sovngarde, if he manages to fight his way in, the ancient servants of Alduin will rise to answer his call to arms and they will strike.”  
  
The High Elf narrowed his eyes. “And why would you be so willingly all the sudden to help us?  Or are you trying to trick us?”  
  
Odahviing hissed through his teeth, squinting at the teal lightning that crackled at Ancano’s fingertips. "Wahpaak! Krosis! You dare question my word after I swore fealty to the Dovahkiin? What purpose would it serve me to trick you? Or find out for yourself when Alduin’s servants walk the earth after laying dormant for ages beyond your comprehension. But I promise you, they _will_ come.”

  



	33. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning ahead: Graphic, sexual, man-on-man action.
> 
> Aside from that, we finally continue our tale. And what is Ancano hiding?

**Chapter 32**

No candles required being lit as the moonlight illuminated the guestroom. The thick, wool curtains that hung above the balcony doors fluttered in the cold night breeze but it hardly bothered Ondolemar, who sat in a chair near the blazing hearth and the bed where Ganir lay unmoving.  
  
The High Elf knew he needed not worry about the Dark Elf’s well-being given his ’state’, but didn’t want to leave him alone to wake up. Not to forget mentioning that he was exhausted…

With a trembling hand, Ondolemar poured himself a goblet of water, which quenched his thirst. He swept the sweat off his brow and his eyes lingered on the Dragonborn, who no doubt would recover even without his help, but Ondolemar had no desire to tempt fate and had exhausted his magicka to heal the nasty, deep gash on Ganir’s head and all the other wounds the Dark Elf had sustained.  
  
“Capture a dragon…” Ondolemar muttered to himself with a small laugh. “Imagine that…”  
  
He had _no_ questions, doubts or hesitations as to why he’d taken this path, which led him all the way here in what seemed such a short time and he had not a single inch of regret. “Auri-El be damned if the bards don’t sing songs of this day,” he then said, raising a newly filled goblet at Ganir before he drank all the water in one go.   
  
With his body drained of magical energy and all of the spell-casting taxing on his body, Ondolemar wanted nothing more than to lie down in the bed at Ganir’s side, but the nightstand was littered with blood-smeared bandages and empty flasks which previously contained potions to enhance his flow of magicka. Ondolemar had barely gathered the filthy bandages in a bundle when he stiffened, startled when he felt Ganir’s hand between his legs.  
  
“Fucking…Ganir!” Ondolemar exhaled sharply through his nose and let go of his chest.   
  
“Come. Rest. It can wait,” The Dark Elf murmured weakly. Ondolemar needed no further convincing as he’d already sat down on the bed to recover from his initial shock and then laid down on his back, next to Ganir, who chuckled.   
  
“You _really_ need to stop doing that,” Ondolemar exhaled again. Then, after a moment of silence as he stared at the mischievous glitter in Ganir’s tired eyes, he asked, “How do you feel?”  
  
“Like Ancano’s used me for target practice.” The Dark Elf winced when he reached for the gash on his head, which was still delicate to the touch.  
  
“Stop touching that.” Ondolemar propped himself up on one elbow to whisk Ganir’s hand away from the wound. “I’m no miracle-worker but did what I could. Besides, if Ancano _had_ used you for target practice, I can assure you we wouldn’t be speaking.”  
   
A little jolt shot through Ondolemar when Ganir snuck his arm under Ondolemar to pull the High Elf closer to him. “Speaking from experience?” Ganir purred as his other hand grabbed hold of Ondolemar’s.   
  
For a moment he hesitated, but Ondolemar pressed his lips against Ganir’s. As tired and aching as they both were, for now they were alone and together.   
  
Only when Ganir deepened the kiss and pulled him closer, did Ondolemar let go of Ganir’s hand. His hand slid down the Dark Elf’s shoulder and he stroked his chest. It was amazing to finally feel what kind of body was hidden below the armor he was rarely seen without.  
   
Thin, lean and muscular. Ondolemar’s fingertips felt the countless scars that marked the Dark Elf’s cold, ashen skin and his lips curled into a smile when Ganir relaxed. The Dark Elf’s hands had found their way below Ondolemar’s tunic and a shiver ran down Ondolemar’s spine as Ganir’s sharp nails raked over his skin. He followed the Dark Elf’s guidance and both the elves shifted in position without breaking their kiss.  
   
Ganir had propped himself to sit upright against the bed’s headboard with Ondolemar straddling his thighs. Ondolemar rolled his tongue in his mouth, briefly pondering to say, or ask, but upon meeting eyes with Ganir, he unlaced his tunic.  
  
In the dim remnants of what light the hearth had provided along with that of the moon, Ondolemar’s golden skin held a sort glow and the High Elf’s eyes sought the Dark Elf’s. Plenty of thoughts and things he could or wanted to say ran through Ganir’s mind as well, but it felt right and whatever life one led, Skyrim had taught him that it was not worth fretting over.   
  
And gods be damned this Altmer wasn’t a gorgeous, gentle man he’d fallen head over heels with.   
  
Ganir’s hands rested on Ondolemar’s hips and the Dark Elf thrived on the anticipation he saw in the High Elf’s eyes before they closed as Ganir’s cold hands stroked his chest. Ondolemar leaned in and caught the tip of Ganir’s ear in his mouth, suckling it softly, shivering as Ganir’s hands explored his body. “Gentle with that, mind the hair…” Ondolemar refrained from biting down on the Dark Elf’s ear when Ganir dug his claws into his ass.   
  
“Delicate spot?” Ondolemar purred in retaliation before planting his lips just below the Dark Elf’s ear, suckling at the skin. A deep, sensual growl escaped Ganir and he ground his hips against Ondolemar’s groin. Taking this as a good sign, Ondolemar began to undo Ganir’s tunic who shifted to discard it.  
  
As Ondolemar suspected, some of the scars on Ganir’s chest held distinct patterns as if inflicted with a purpose. He trailed some of them with his fingers in awe and curiosity. Even after all this time, this mysterious, handsome elf still held so many riddles.   
   
“Don’t worry. Plenty of time to tell you all about it,” Ganir reassured Ondolemar and grabbed the High Elf’s hand to pull him closer. “Or do you prefer story-time over…’target practice’?”  
  
“We could do both…after target practice.” Ondolemar’s lips curled into a smile, which lingered even when he caught the Dark Elf’s lips again in a kiss. Ganir pushed his tongue into Ondolemar’s mouth, holding him by the back of his head. His free hand stroked the High Elf’s chest and he flicked his thumb over Ondolemar’s nipple.  
   
Ondolemar arched his back and pressed his body against Ganir’s as their kiss deepened. He felt himself grow harder as he thought of the sudden ‘incident’ in the Midden. Since then, Ondolemar had wanted nothing more but a moment of intimacy with Ganir and now the moment was finally there.  
  
Ganir closed his eyes as they kissed, not just to savour how Ondolemar tasted, but to contain his urges as the Altmer’s intense warmth and delicious smell awoke his most carnal of urges. He could not just hear the other elf’s heartbeat speed up, but feel the Altmer’s hot breath and the heat from their bodies grinding against one another. A small growl escaped Ondolemar as jolts of pleasure shot through his body when the Dark Elf flicked his thumbs over his nipples and felt the blood rush and throb in his cock.  
   
When Ganir tugged at the belt of his breeches, Ondolemar pulled back from the kiss and he sat upright to undo them. He had turned and gotten up to kick his trousers off his ankles, but he glanced over his shoulder at Ganir when the Dark Elf put his arms around him from behind and held him in place. “What are you-?”  
  
The Dark Elf shushed him. “Just relax. Trust me,” he whispered as he guided Ondolemar back onto the bed, the both of them on their knees but not facing each other. Ganir pressed himself against Ondolemar’s back, his hair tickling him and he tensed slightly with excitement and anticipation before he relaxed to the Dark Elf’s touch. “You’re soft,” Ganir whispered as he stroked Ondolemar’s chest and back, slowly circling his thumbs down Ondolemar’s waist. “So beautiful. Definitely superior bred.”  
  
“Few have the honor, ‘ _mutt_ ’,” Ondolemar smiled and turned his face to kiss Ganir again. He carefully ran his fingers through the Dark Elf’s thick hair. When he got close enough, he caught Ganir’s earlobe between his lips and began to suck while his tongue played with the Dark Elf’s earring. Ganir took a sharp breath and dug his nails into the High Elf’s skin, peering down over the elf’s shoulder through slanted eyes.

Ondolemar was flawless. His skin was so smooth, perfect and soft. His scent was sweet, exotic and musky. And it was all for him to enjoy. Once he felt that the elf in his arms had relaxed to his touch, his fingers unlaced the loincloth to fully expose Ondolemar to him.   
  
Ondolemar’s breathing stuttered as he shuddered with pleasure as the Dark Elf teased him, slowly inching closer to his groin before backing away. His hands gripped the Dark Elf’s thighs and stroked them, as if bracing himself and when the moment was finally there, a deep, sensual moan left his lips. Ganir stroked the length of Ondolemar’s cock, which rose to attention, eager for more. Ganir ground his hips against Ondolemar’s behind, his own cock hardening as well, but he had the time and he wanted to pleasure Ondolemar the way he hadn’t pleased a man in a long time.   
  
Ganir’s lips and teeth suckled and nibbled at the sensitive spots of Ondolemar’s neck while his free hand grabbed a firm hold of the Altmer’s ass and began to knead it. When the Dark Elf took a firm hold of his cock and began to jerk him off, Ondolemar threw his head back as his eyes rolled into the back of his head and a shameless moan escaped his lips. This elf had a way with him no man or woman ever had before and he loved it.   
   
Ondolemar closed his eyes, blood pounding in his ears and so aware of how his cock and balls throbbed between his legs and in the Dark Elf’s hands. Jolts of excitement shot through him whenever Ganir’s fingers inched closer to his asshole and his hips instinctively began to roll with the motion as his arousal grew. Thick precum dripped down his hard, erect cock and he had no idea yet what the Dark Elf had in mind, but he wasn’t just willing but _aching_ for all of it.   
  
When Ganir put his finger to Ondolemar’s lips, the High Elf parted them and began to suckle on it, caught in a daze of his increasing arousal. Tingles ran down Ganir’s spine as Ondolemar’s tongue coiled around the finger in his mouth. The High Elf reached behind him and took a firm hold of Ganir’s groin. Ganir grunted and took a sharp breath and it took every bit of restraint to not bite down on Ondolemar’s neck, bend him over and fuck the living daylights out of him.   
  
Gathering himself, he pulled his finger from Ondolemar’s mouth and brought it down to Ondolemar’s asshole. Gently he prodded and teased before pushing his finger inside and Ondolemar’s cheeks burned hot-red, certain all of Whiterun had heard him, when he cried out not from pain but from an intense pleasure he had _never_ felt before. Ganir couldn’t help himself and chuckled before planting comforting kisses on Ondolemar’s cheek. “Told you I could make you scream,” he teased.   
  
Ondolemar’s wit left him as the Dark Elf’s finger wriggled inside of his ass and the Dark Elf’s other hand maintained its firm grip on his cock. He felt so vulnerable and embarrassed at first, but as the Dark Elf murmured sweet, tempting words in his ear in the Dunmer language, he surrendered to the waves of arousal that came with each motion. “Ganir…not too fast…”   
  
The High Elf bit down on his lip and he slowly began rolling his hips to the Dark Elf’s touch. His cock and balls were soaked in his own sweat and pre and as the pressure built up, he had to dig his fingers into Ganir’s thighs as not to cry out his name. But when Ganir pushed another finger inside of him, he no longer had any restraint. Panting, groaning, twisting and writhing in the Dark Elf’s grasp, he felt his balls clench and his cock pound so painfully he thought he was going to burst. “Ganir…!” If just a pair of fingers could do this  to him, what would it be like if Ganir bent him over and fucked him.  
   
As if the Dark Elf could read his mind, Ganir held Ondolemar in place and began driving him so close to the edge it was unbearable! The Dark Elf’s fingers twisted inside of his ass while the other hand tormented his balls and cock to the point he was willing to _beg_ for the release he so desperately ached for. He felt his asshole clench and unclench around the Dark Elf’s fingers and the waves of pleasure hit him harder and harder as he inched closer and closer to an orgasm unlike any before. And all he could think of was how he wanted the Dark Elf to mercilessly pound him until the both of them would scream their release.  
  
Ondolemar’s whole body shook and a deep, heavy groan emitted from his throat as he released his load over Ganir’s hand. When his legs gave, he was thankful that the Dark Elf caught him and pulled him down onto the bed, where for a moment, he lay dazed in the after bliss of his orgasm.   
His chest heaved up and down and for a time, he was out of breath and at a loss for words, but when he made to speak, Ganir shushed him.   
  
“It’s all right,” Ganir murmured while he stroked Ondolemar’s chest. “Gather your wits first. There’s no rush.”  
  
Ondolemar closed his eyes for a brief moment as the rush slowly but surely left his body and he began to shiver from the cold. Ganir could tell and pulling the High Elf too him, he also pulled the thick fur and wool covers over the both of them. The two elves lay alongside each other on their backs. No words needed be said, but Ondolemar couldn’t help himself and twirled a few stray locks of Ganir’s hair around his fingers as his thoughts grabbed a brief hold of him.  
“Let me guess, you and Alvas would gather your things and be on your way?”  
  
Ondolemar nodded. “Do you want me too?”  
  
“No.” The Dark Elf replied without a second thought. “After all, I did promise you a good story or two.”  
  
  
  
By the time dim rays of sunlight peered over the hills in the distance, Ondolemar had long since fallen asleep in the Dark Elf’s arms. Ganir had basked in the bliss and warmth of an intimacy he hadn’t shared or felt for anyone in a long time. That was until both he and Ondolemar swore furiously, startled when Dragonsreach’s walls shook because of Odahviing’s thunderous roars.   
  
“What in the damned planes of Oblivion-?!” Ondolemar exclaimed as he shot upright. “Do you think we should…?”  
  
The Dark Elf’s lips curled into the most wide, shit-eating grin. “Nah. Ancano can handle it. After all, I need my…nurse’s full attendance.” Before Ondolemar could protest, Ganir pulled the other elf on top of him into a kiss. When Ondolemar pulled back, however, Ganir gave a sigh of admittance. “All right, we’ll go check if the racket hasn’t stopped after say…fifteen minutes?”  
  
Ondolemar peered over his shoulder at the door which he had locked earlier that night so he wouldn’t be disturbed while tending to Ganir and briefly mulled over the suggestion. “Make it ten.”  
  
“Good enough for me.” An ‘Oomph’ escaped Ondolemar when Ganir grabbed him by the back of his head and pulled him back into a kiss. Barely five minutes had passed as they frolicked, when Ganir pulled away and raised his finger, “See? He has it handled.”  
  
Though he wanted nothing more than continue, Ondolemar pulled away. “We should go check, though.”  
  
The Dark Elf sighed but let go of the Altmer, but he leaned back himself to momentarily ogle the naked High Elf who had climbed out of bed to get washed and dressed before he did the same.   
  
Their initial idea was to head to the Great Porch but instead, found Ancano pacing back and forth in front of the blazing fire at the long tables. Irileth stood leaning against one of the ornate, carved pillars next to Balgruuf, who sat on his throne. Farengar sat on the steps to the throne while Proventus stood at his Jarl’s side but they all looked so troubled, Ganir and Ondolemar both knew  something was up right away.  
  
“Dragonborn!” Balgruuf exclaimed upon seeing the two elves. “It is so good to see you! How do you feel?”  
  
“Just fine, thank you,” Ganir bowed his head. “Thanks to my comrade’s care.” It went completely over the heads of the others, but Ondolemar looked like a deer caught in the headlights when Ancano’s eyes briefly narrowed at the both of them. 

“We have a problem,” the Arch-Mage then finally said to Ganir. “One that involves you making a choice for the better or worse on a short notice. Odahviing insisted he speak with me on a matter of great urgency and we must not delay any longer as we can’t afford for Alduin to make the first move.”  
  
“With all due respect, but are you absolutely sure the dragon isn’t making some vain threats in an attempt to trick us and cause chaos?” Proventus asked, though hesitant. “I mean, wouldn’t that be a bit over the top to think a dragon would command ‘armies’?”  
  
“You also thought it preposterous for dragons to exist, Proventus. Need we be proven wrong again?” Balgruuf glared at his advisor before he turned his head to Farengar, who jumped to his feet when he realized the Jarl was expecting his opinion.  
  
“It is definitely not out of the question, my Jarl,” Farengar replied. “My previous research has shown that the dragons were even _worshipped_ by so-called ‘Dragon priests’ who were treated like demi-gods and possessed great powers beyond our imagination.”  
  
“Wait, hold on!” Ganir shook his hands and head in confusion. “What is going on? What do you mean with ‘armies’ and Alduin making the first move?”  
  
Ancano raised his hand at Ganir and nodded at the Jarl. “Jarl Balgruuf, I trust your judgement on handling the delicate matter of warning the holds. In the meantime, I will see to it that the Dragonborn is informed before I return to the College.”  
   
“But of course, Arch-Mage,” Balgruuf replied. “You have our thanks, once more. Proventus. Irileth. We have work to do.”  
  
Without a signal or further word, Ancano walked off towards the Great Porch and after exchanging confused glances, Ondolemar and Ganir followed him. “Care to tell me what exactly is going on?”  
  
“Alduin somehow knew what we were planning,” Ancano replied. He didn’t bother to slow down. “I don’t know how, nor do I care to know, but he knows you’re after him. The moment you set foot in Sovngarde, he will rally his servants to attack Skyrim, including the College.”  
  
“Wait. _Stop_.” Ganir could tell right away that Ancano wasn’t too pleased to be halted, but tolerated it nevertheless. “Calm down, Ancano. What else did he tell you?”  
   
The High Elf’s expression hardened and something burned within his dark golden eyes, but the most prominent thing both he and Ondolemar could both see, was _fear._ An emotion the Arch-Mage had never shown before. “Odahviing has told me that the only way for you to defeat Alduin, is to seek him out in Sovngarde. While he is weak, you may still have a chance, but you _must leave_ _now…_ And so must I. I _must_ return to the College.”  
  
The realization now dawned on both Ganir and Ondolemar as to what was going on and understood why there was no time to waste. Not even to jest or say goodbye. But in a way, they already had and the two elves nodded at each other before Ganir turned and ran up the steps to the Great Porch; to Odahviing. Ondolemar made to follow, but Ancano grabbed hold of his shoulder. “There’s nothing more we can do for him. The College needs us. I need you.”  
  
Ondolemar swore inwardly but knew Ancano was right. “Let’s get going then,” he said and the two Altmer left Whiterun as fast as they could, but Ancano too had cast a glance over his shoulder to where Ganir had headed.

 

Odahviing’s chest rumbled when he saw the Dark Elf Dragonborn walk up the steps towards him. “Drem Yol Lok, Dovahkiin. I see your Lotlahzey has kept his word. Are you ready?”  
  
“Is it true then what Ancano told me?” Ganir leaned on his knees to catch his breath as his mind reeled. It wasn’t just Ancano’s words that still rung in his ears, but the fear in the Altmer’s eyes disturbed him greatly.   
  
“Geh. With my vaat to you, it would bring me great dukaan to speak falsehoods,” Odahviing replied. “But we must hurry, if you intend to defeat Alduin, Dovahkiin. Release me, and I shall take you to Skuldafn.”  
  
Ganir sought the Dragon’s eyes but he knew he needn’t doubt the dragon’s words. “Release him.” He said to the guards who stood on the walkway a level above him.  
  
“Are you sure,-?”  
  
“Yes, I wouldn’t ask otherwise, now would I?” Ganir snapped, but his eyes lingered on the dragon. “If I even so much as detect the slightest hint of trickery…”  
  
“Hi paak Zu’u Dovahkiin!” Odahviing snapped his jaws. “Have I not kept my word to you thus far?”  
  
The wooden yoke creaked and the loud rattle of chains was unbearable to both Ganir and Odahviing’s ears. The Dark Elf braced himself to strike at the dragon who shook his head as the massive yoke was finally removed.  The massive beast then spread its wings and reared on his hind legs. “Stin, Dovahkiin! The greatest gift of all. And I shall repay you by showing you the skies as only the Dov know them.”  
  
Ganir had taken a step back, awed by the majesty of Odahviing’s appearance. Only now did he realize how absolutely massive the dragon was. And with all the power that this dragon held, it had yielded to him, such a seemingly small and insignificant being. Odahviing lowered himself to the ground with his wings still spread. “Bo, Dovahkiin. Climb on my back and we shall fly.”  
  
Ganir looked over his shoulder, hoping that Ondolemar or Ancano would be there, but they weren’t. And the realization that only he could stop Alduin hit him hard. Just what would await him in Sovngarde, if he could even go there. And if so, just how?   
  
“Your Lotlahzey and his companion are powerful, Dovahkiin. They will do what they must, as will you, but you are not alone.” Odahviing’s voice was of surprising comfort to Ganir, who turned his head to look at the dragon again. “I will fight at your side.”  
  
The dragon then turned his head away from Ganir to expose his neck and spread his wings so that the Dark Elf could easily climb onto his back. When he stood near the dragon, Ganir couldn’t help but stroke the beast’s neck, whose chest rumbled deeply. “I’m counting on you, Odahviing. Take me to Skuldafn.”   
  
Ganir took a firm hold of a spine on the dragon’s back and hoisted himself up. As Odahviing turned and awkwardly waddled towards the great open balcony of the Great Porch, the Dark Elf had trouble holding on and maintaining balance. His stomach churned when Odahviing spread his wings and he closed his eyes when the dragon took the jump.   
   
But it was nothing like the wild, insane rodeo of the day before, but he felt...alive. And far down below, he saw two, small figures on horseback, riding down the paved road in the direction of Winterhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am -so- dreadfully sorry that I've not updated in ages but aside from real life, I also got my ass kicked by the flu.
> 
> If you're still reading this story, thank you for taking your time to read and having dropped these comments and kudos thusfar.  
> If you have any thoughts or comments to share, please don't hesitate to drop a comment or a kudo. It's always appreciated.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. Until next time!


	34. Update (small)

Hello dear reader,

I'm sorry to disappoint you with no new content for quite some time now and felt it would be a decent thing to give you a wee update.

My new job has really kept me occupied but I have been working on the plot and older chapters. In the come four days as of this update I intend to post at least one rewritten chapter.

Again my apologies for keeping you waiting, but I hope this clarifies some matters.

Regards,  
NoLoreMaster


End file.
